


as lovely as it looks

by drizzly_bear



Category: The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Almost No Angst!, Alternate Universe, Cinderella - Freeform, F/F, barry is a whole anachronism and i love him, i accidentally made kaylee and shelby evil, kind of a slow burn for a fairytale i guess, oneshot that got out of hand, slow burn?, they don't meet until 8k in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-03-29 18:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19025125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drizzly_bear/pseuds/drizzly_bear
Summary: in which alyssa is a princess who sleeps on silken sheets, emma is a scullery maid who sleeps on the kitchen floor, and there is a ball with dresses and dancing (that betsy and barry convince emma to attend).or: the cinderella au





	as lovely as it looks

**Author's Note:**

> Elements taken from Disney’s film Cinderella, while other bits and pieces are from variations of the fairytale, and some are my own of course. Title from 'Prologue' of the Cinderella musical (the 2013 OBCR). 
> 
> I want to say a huge thank you to the incomparable [ @SJAandDWFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SJAandDWfan). You let me DM you screaming about this for weeks. You gave me the courage, the fortitude, and the confidence to write this, and keep writing it. Without you, this fic wouldn’t be here. It really wouldn’t.

 

_Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom, the princess held a royal ball. Every eligible suitor in the kingdom was invited, and the princess was to select one of them to marry. The ball became the main topic of conversation throughout the kingdom, and everybody who was anybody at all gathered their finest garments in preparation._

 

* * *

 

It was a lovely spring day, and the sky shone bright and blue through the fluttering emerald leaves of the ash tree upon the hill. A cool breeze blew through the air, bearing the sweet music of birdsong to the ears of all who cared to listen. No one did, though.

No one stopped to enjoy the lovely spring day, not even the girl sitting under the ash tree on the hill, surrounded by the music of the birds. For the girl sat alone on the hill and wept, and no one came to comfort her.

The girl was weeping because her mother was dead. Her mother had died seven years ago, when the girl was only a child, and each year on this date the girl went to her grave to mourn her. This was the one day of the year when the girl allowed herself to cry, and it was the one day of the year she was allowed to have entirely to herself.

The girl was named Emma.

Emma sat alone, with the reassuring solidness of the hard ash trunk at her back. She had planted that tree exactly seven years ago, right over her mother’s grave, and it was her only companion on those days of commemoration. Emma’s father had always been too distant and lost in his own grief to mourn with her, and she did not wish to burden her grandmother with any more of her troubles.

On this day, when Emma wept, she wept first and foremost for her mother; but she also wept for those bygone days where they had been a happy family, and she had been loved. She wept for the safety and the comfort that she had lost, and she wept for all the changes that had arrived thereafter. Because not long after her dear mother had died, her father had married anew, and Emma’s stepmother had not been kind to her. Her stepmother and stepsisters punished her day in and day out for her differences – for the fact the she preferred to wear her hair short, and shunned extravagant dresses and jewellery, and for her adamant refusal to become betrothed to any of the village boys.

Soon after, her stepsisters, Kaylee and Shelby, had spread ugly rumours about her to the whole village, and Emma had been left without a single friend. She couldn’t understand quite why it was so horrible to look and dress different, or what, exactly, was so wrong about not wanting to be married. So Emma clung stubbornly to who and how she was, despite her status as the village pariah.

Even worse, her stepmother had begun to whisper poisonous things about Emma to her father, and gradually turned him against her. Emma noticed that over a period of months, her father spoke to her less, and less, and less, and less, and less. Until one day he had said nothing at all, had handed her an apron and a list of chores, and turned away, never once looking her in the face.

And so it was that Emma became a servant to her own family, in her own home, with no friends except for her elderly grandmother, Betsy, who largely stayed in her attic room anyways as she absolutely loathed her son’s new wife and daughters and refused to even interact with them. Emma washed the family’s dishes, scrubbed their floors, cooked their meals, cleaned their laundry, and dusted the house from top to bottom; and the stepsisters did not lift a single finger to help her. It would have absolutely ruined their manicures. Betsy naturally tried to assist her granddaughter but Emma would not let her, and insisted on performing all the tasks herself.

Of course, Emma had not gone down without a fight.

The first time Kaylee and Shelby had caught her grumbling about her chores, they had taken all of her belongings out of her room and burned them, tossing each item gleefully into the flames while Emma watched helplessly. The only clothing they’d left her was a plain smock, which soon grew tattered and grubby. Lacking a bed, blanket, or even a mattress, Emma had been left to curl up next to the kitchen fireplace each night in a fruitless bid to stay warm. Sleeping amongst the cinders left her constantly streaked with soot and ash, so Kaylee and Shelby had soon taken to calling her ‘Cinderemma’.

The second time Emma had protested her new role as a servant, Kaylee and Shelby had punished her by taking away her meals for an entire day, leaving her weak from hunger and struggling to finish her chores for the day. But Emma had not let them beat her down. That night, she had marched to her father’s room, meaning to tell him of how awfully she was treated and hoping to appeal to any remnant of his soul had not yet been crushed by her stepmother.

That was the third and final time Emma had ever resisted her stepmother and stepsisters’ regime. At the top of the stairs, outside of her father’s study door, Emma had been stopped by the grinning faces of Kaylee and Shelby.

“Let me talk to him,” Emma had said fiercely. “He’s my father and you have no right to do this to me!”

Deliberately ignoring her, Shelby had turned to Kaylee and said, “Oh my, Kaylee, I can’t help but worry for Betsy. These stairs are _so_ steep.”

Kaylee had turned to face her sister, saying, “I know exactly what you mean, Shelby. It would be so _very_ unfortunate if she were to, I don’t know, fall down them one day.”

Kaylee had punctuated this sentence with a meaningful look at Emma.

“Precisely,” her sister had agreed. “She would be _awfully_ hurt. She may even die.”

“Oh, gosh, we would never want _that_ to happen, would we now?” At this point, both of her stepsisters had looked directly at Emma, masks of false concern adorning their picture-perfect faces.

Emma had stared at them both unbelievingly, sure that they couldn’t possibly be implying what she thought they were implying. But they didn’t budge an inch. She heard the soft click of heels coming up the hallway, and looked behind the sisters to see her stepmother coming to stand behind Kaylee and Shelby. Her stepmother was Emma’s last hope. She had stared desperately into her stepmother’s steely eyes, and seen her stepmother turn her gaze to her two daughters, purposefully casting Emma’s pleading look aside.

“Come along, children,” her stepmother had said, taking the two sisters’ hands. “Don’t you know young ladies should never fraternise with household servants? It’s most unseemly.”

“Yes, mother,” chorused Kaylee and Shelby.

“Oh, and Emma? I have an awful tear in my favourite petticoat, would you be a dear and mend it for me? It would take hours, and I simply do not have the time.” Her stepmother’s voice sent an icy chill down Emma’s spine.

“Not Emma, mother,” Shelby had piped up, “ _Cinder-_ emma.”

“Because, well, you know.” Kaylee eyed Emma up and down. Emma had flushed then – unfashionable as she had always been, she had never wanted to be dressed in rags and ashes.

The stepmother’s lips had quirked into a near-indiscernible smile. “Cinderemma, is it? How delightful.” She turned away, leading her daughters down the corridor, tossing one last barb at Emma over her shoulder. “The petticoat’s on my dresser, _Cinderemma_. I’d like it ready by tomorrow morning, please.”

And Emma knew that she had lost.

She’d turned and fled down the stairs then, tears welling in her eyes. No matter what any of them did to her, Emma had never fought back again. She behaved as if she were perfectly happy to continue serving them for the rest of her life. And she had never told anyone about what had happened that night.

It had continued that way until the anniversary of her mother’s death, when Emma had stood up from her breakfast, looked her father in the eye, and walked out the back door up to the ash tree on the hill. Spluttering with fury, her stepmother had risen and made to follow Emma, but it was then that her father had chosen to do the second-to-last thing he would ever do to help his daughter. He had placed his hand firmly on his wife’s shoulder, and forced her back down into her chair. The family had finished the meal in silence, and left Emma alone on the hilltop for the rest of the day.

The next day, Emma had arisen from her spot by the fireplace and resumed the routine as normal. She served her stepmother and stepsisters demurely, never speaking, until she was as unnoticed as a piece of furniture. But they had all formed an unacknowledged arrangement that each year, on the anniversary of her mother’s death, she was allowed the day to sit in solitude under the ash tree.

And so it continued, each day the same, until that lovely spring day when the princess announced a ball.

 

* * *

 

In a palace that was not so very far away from where Emma lived and yet worlds apart, Her Royal Highness, Princess Alyssa, sat in conversation with her mother, the queen regent. The spring day shone tantalisingly out of reach behind a closed window, and Alyssa longed to just open the window a crack – just a tiny bit – and maybe catch a snippet of birdsong, but she could imagine what her mother would say. _(_ _Alyssa, stop that. Pay attention. A queen would never stare wistfully out of an upstairs window.)_ She wrenched her attention back to her embroidery and the conversation at hand.

“Well, Alyssa,” her mother had been saying, “we really should give some consideration to your future.”

Alyssa said nothing. She’d learned that when her mother spoke, it was best to remain silent until she had finished pontificating. _(Alyssa, be quiet. A queen never interrupts.)_ Most of their so-called ‘conversations’ went like this – her mother would speechify for a few minutes, and Alyssa would acquiesce to whatever it was her mother wanted this time: learn to dance, sit up straight, take elocution lessons, work harder on her history.

The queen regent continued on. “You will be coming of age soon, and as you well know, you shall inherit the throne at that time. My job as custodian will be done, and I shall no longer be able to protect you from the difficulties of ruling. And so, the councillors and I have decreed that you shall have to select a husband. A queen must have a king, you understand.”

Her mother paused, and Alyssa took this as a sign that her input was expected at this point. Leaving the needle stuck halfway through the fabric she was embroidering, Alyssa asked with virtually no trace of bitterness to her voice, “Who will choose my husband-to-be?”

 “Why, you will choose, Alyssa,” replied the queen regent with a wide smile, as if she’d hoped the princess would ask that.  “We thought perhaps you might like to.”

Alyssa could not help but be a bit ironic as she said, “Thank you. That is most generous.”

Her mother sighed. “Alyssa. A queen is never ungracious.”

“Yes, mother.” Alyssa bowed her head back down to her embroidery. “I apologise. It won’t happen again.”

“As I was saying, you will have to select one from a number of suitors to be your husband.” Her mother began to pace around the room. “I have decided that the best way to do this would be to hold a ball in your honour. There will be music, and dancing, and everyone will wear their finest. Every eligible young man in the kingdom shall be invited, and you shall dance and talk with each of them, and at the end of the night you will choose the one you will marry. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful. You are always saying that the royal family should throw a ball once in a while, to mingle with the populace and gain their favour,” Alyssa said, buying herself time to think about what she was going to say next. “But you do understand how… boisterous young men can sometimes be. We wouldn’t want any of them to get to envious of one another, should I choose to spend more time with some of them over others. Perhaps we should invite some young ladies as well, to introduce a more festive and light-hearted atmosphere to the occasion.”

Rather eloquent, Alyssa thought, when what she was really trying to say was: me, alone in a room full of God knows how many men all wanting a piece of Princess Alyssa? I’d be a lamb left out for the wolves.

Her mother looked almost surprised, and gave Alyssa a genuine smile for once. “That’s quite a reasonable suggestion. I don’t see why we shouldn’t invite the young women of the realm as well. There’s a chance that many fortuitous matches would be made. Yes, I shall bring it up with the council. Now all we have to do, Alyssa, is ensure that you are more beautiful and more accomplished than anyone else who will be attending. Don’t disappoint me now!”

And with that, the queen regent exited the room without stopping to see if Alyssa had anything else to say.

Sighing, Alyssa let her embroidery drop to the ground. Talking to her mother was always like this. The way she had to delicately insert her comments in between every sentence her mother said was like fencing. It was exhausting, but good practice in diplomacy at least.

She sat still for a minute, then picked her embroidery up and put it away. _(Tidy that up, Alyssa. A queen never leaves her things lying around.)_

Needing to clear her head, Alyssa headed for the gardens. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would help her think better. She couldn’t help but wonder how things might have been different, if her father had still been around. Maybe her mother would be less strict, and instead of having countless lessons on what to do and what to say, Alyssa would have had a chance to have an actual childhood. Maybe her mother would have let her go out into town sometimes, instead of staying within the palace walls each day, with only her tutor and her ladies-in-waiting for company.

But nothing would ever change the fact that, years ago, her father had left on a week-long hunting trip with only his royal advisor for company and never returned. Alyssa’s mother had been distraught and gone into a period of mourning, leaving her tutor Hawkins to explain the situation to her. Only being a child at the time, Alyssa hadn’t really been able to understand that her father was gone, and she was the only heir to the throne. The councillors had installed her mother on the throne, to govern as queen regent until Alyssa came of age. And so years of lessons on how to be the perfect queen had followed.

Alyssa strode out of a side door and emerged into the grounds surrounding the palace. A footman bowed as she exited, and she hurriedly nodded to him as she passed. _(Don’t rush, Alyssa. A queen is always stately.)_ Taking a left and then a right, she went by the gazebo and the fountains, headed for the quiet spot among the climbing roses where she went to have a moment of peace every once in a while. Ensconcing herself in the hidden alcove under a rose trellis, Alyssa leaned back amongst the blossoms and sighed.

She had thought that once she became queen, she would finally have some degree of freedom in her life. Break out of the stifling cage she’d grown up in. But now, she would be trapped by an equally as confining marriage. Even though her mother had said she would have the choice, Alyssa knew she would still end up marrying some boring, arrogant fool who thought the world of himself for winning the Princess Alyssa as his wife.

Well, that was the burden of being a queen. Alyssa had always known that she would have to make sacrifices for her kingdom. It was her duty, so she would just have to deal with it.

Alyssa straightened her neck and tried to look on the bright side. She breathed a deep lungful of the rose-scented air and thought about all the things that could go in her favour. Maybe she would meet someone who wasn’t totally insufferable. Someone sweet, or funny, or intelligent. Someone kind, and humble. Maybe she would meet someone she could actually be friends with.

Maybe.

So Princess Alyssa sat alone amongst the flowers, on this lovely spring day, and hoped against all hope that her ball would change everything.

 

* * *

 

It was dusk by the time Emma moved from her vigil under the ash tree and returned to the house. The sunset was banding the sky in brilliant shades of vermillion and royal purple, and she took a moment to appreciate it before noticing the sound of commotion in the household.

She rushed back into the house, thinking that she might be needed, and nearly collided with Kaylee. Without so much as an insult or a dirty look, Kaylee continued to hurry toward the front hall. Curious, Emma followed. What could be so urgent that Kaylee would pass up an opportunity to belittle Cinderemma?

As she approached the front of the house, she heard her stepmother invite someone in, offering refreshment.

“No, no.” An unknown man’s voice came in reply. “I must deliver this message to every household in the town before the night’s through. I’ve no time to dally.”

Emma arrived to see a court herald standing in their doorway, dressed in the royal livery – a tabard of red and green with a ring of embroidered fleurs-de-lis encircling a golden hunting horn. He cleared his throat loudly and took up a practised stance.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” he cried. “Her Royal Highness, Princess Alyssa Maria Isabelle Abigail Anna Grace Greene, is giving a royal ball. Come one, come all, three days hence, for a night of music and dancing at the royal palace. Prepare to look your finest, for at the end of the night the princess will be choosing her most charming suitor to marry! Hear ye, hear ye!”

Silence fell over Kaylee and Shelby, who looked dumbstruck. Their mother smiled. This was a perfect opportunity for her daughters to do some social climbing, and maybe even make an advantageous match. Perhaps one of them could marry a minor duke or a margrave.

The silence persisted for an uncomfortable moment until it was broken by Betsy laughing from her rocking chair, as if detecting shenanigans yet to come.

Emma’s stepmother and stepsisters snapped into action.

Kaylee and Shelby began to babble simultaneously.

“Mother, can we –”

“What dresses –”

A single gesture from their mother silenced them. “Yes, girls, you shall of course be attending. The whole kingdom will be there. It would be a disgrace should the ladies of our household not attend. Besides, there will be many suitable young bachelors present, and it is past time that you two considered your futures.”

“Shelby and I simply must have new dresses, mother!” Kaylee sounded near-hysterical with excitement. “The dresses we currently have are nowhere near fine enough for the princess’s ball.”

Her mother nodded. “Of course. I shall have a dressmaker visit us tomorrow to outfit you in the most beautiful ballgowns money can buy.”

“Thank you!” Kaylee and Shelby exclaimed in unison. Then they rushed upstairs, presumably to check their reflections in the mirror and discuss how they would look when the grand night came.

For a moment, Emma entertained the image of a dazzling ballroom filled with beautiful strangers, herself a beautiful stranger among them. She pushed the vision from her mind. Imagining the impossibility of attending the ball would only bring her heartache. With a wry smile on her face, Emma turned toward the kitchen, where she had yet to bank the fire for the night.

“Emma,” her grandmother called softly, “could you help me up the stairs?”

Emma was somewhat startled by this. Old as Betsy Nolan may have been, she was far from frail. Nevertheless, Emma went to her grandmother’s side and helped her up, looping their arms together as they ventured up the steep staircase. Why her family had decided to house the oldest one among them in the attic of all places, Emma didn’t know. She supposed that having consideration for the welfare of others had simply never occurred to them.

“How about this ball, then?” Betsy asked.

“I don’t see that it was anything to do with me, Grandma,” Emma said in reply.

They walked up the remainder of the steps in a comfortable silence. Betsy seemed to be thinking about what to say next, so Emma waited expectantly. Once they’d reached the landing, Betsy spoke again.

“Don’t you want to go?”

Emma huffed out a breath of not-altogether sincere laughter. She did love her grandmother, and Betsy’s optimism was the only thing keeping her going some days, but surely even she could see how impossible it was for drab little Cinderemma to go to the ball?

“Of course I want to,” Emma said. “But look at me. I’m a servant – less than a servant. Servants get paid. It’s unthinkable that someone like me could go to an event like that.”

Betsy looked upset by her words, but forged ahead regardless. She frowned sternly at her granddaughter. “Don’t let your stepmother and stepsisters get into your head. Just think about it, Emma. What’s stopping you from going to the ball? As the herald said, everyone’s invited. You have every right to attend.”

Emma was starting to feel swayed by her argument. Somehow, conversations with her grandmother always ended up like this. Given enough time, Emma was sure that Betsy could talk her into doing anything.

“Besides,” Betsy continued, eyes beginning to sparkle, “there’s bound to be any number of charming young ladies there. Think of that! I have heard that Princess Alyssa is amazingly accomplished, and a looker to boot.”

Betsy winked. Emma groaned. Ever since Emma had mentioned that she thought the farmer’s daughter was cute, Betsy had been trying to set her up with any number of girls – the baker’s daughter, the cobbler’s daughter, the blacksmith’s apprentice. It was sweet, but a little frustrating, as Emma knew that none of those girls had the slightest bit of interest in her. And they weren’t even Emma’s type – not that Emma knew what her type was.

Though she had once made eye contact with the blacksmith’s apprentice. That had been something.

“Grandma, no,” protested Emma. “I am not going to the ball to meet girls whose personalities are nowhere near as nice as their dresses might suggest.”

“Well, go for you, then,” Betsy suggested. “It’s a chance for you to get out of the house! Maybe make some friends.” Betsy cast around for any other titbits with which to entice Emma. “The catering’s sure to be good.”

Laughing, Emma gave in. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. Just for the catering though, you understand?”

Betsy pulled her in to a hug, and Emma smiled. Her grandmother gave the best hugs. They had just the right amount of squeeze to them, ensconcing Emma in a cocoon of safety. Wrapped up in Betsy’s arms, Emma felt the warmth of her grandmother’s unconditional love push away the shadows of loneliness that constantly plagued her.

Unbidden, Emma thought back to how Kaylee and Shelby had reacted to the announcement of the ball, and Emma felt a wave of horror sweep through her, drowning the sweet anticipation she had begun to feel.

She pulled back from Betsy’s embrace and asked, “But what do I wear? I haven’t got anything to wear.”

Seeing Emma’s look of worry, Betsy soothed her, saying, “Not to worry, we’ll sort it out. I’m sure we can make a dress from a spare bit of fabric, or we could alter one of Shelby or Kaylee’s dresses to suit you. Not to blow my own horn, but back in my day I was a dab hand at seamstressing.”

It wouldn’t be a ballgown made by the best tailor in town, but spending the time with her grandmother to make the dress would be special enough in itself.

That night, when Emma curled up by the softly glowing embers of the hearth fire, she fell asleep feeling the most hopeful she had felt in a long time.

 

* * *

 

After the requisite three days had passed, the whole town was bursting with excitement. It quivered and shook like a dog who’d just heard the word ‘walk’. The inns were full to bursting with visitors from far and wide – every duke and petty lordlet from all over the great wide kingdom, and even a handful of princes from other lands were there.

Kaylee and Shelby were rushing around in their bedroom in one last frenzy of preparation, primping and preening and powdering. Emma was by their side the whole while, fetching and carrying and suffering through their sniping. Even she had to admit that her stepsisters looked perfect in their fashionable dresses. Any unsuspecting admirer would, looking at them, believe them to be two beautiful angels. Emma alone understood their deceptive appearances.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw her grandmother beckoning from the open doorway. Curtseying, she excused herself from the room, saying, “I’ll just go to fetch your cloaks.” With that, she joined Betsy at the door, curious as to what she was being summoned for.

Seeing the question on her granddaughter’s lips, Betsy shushed Emma gently (eyes twinkling) and led her down the stairs without saying a word. Bemused, Emma followed Betsy down the stairs and into the kitchen.

There, hanging by the mantelpiece and lit in glowing tones from the fire, hung a dress. Emma’s dress; for Emma had sewn it herself, altering it from one of Kaylee’s castoffs. It had been a simple dress to begin with, and a simple dress it had remained – scooped neck, full sleeves, skirt falling smoothly from the waist. But now, it was transformed.

Extra layers had been added to the skirt, so that the dress now belled out as a true ballgown should, and the amber bodice was artfully slashed to show its creamy underlayer.

Emma turned to her grandmother, tears glowing in her eyes. “Did you make this?” she asked breathlessly.

Betsy shrugged nonchalantly. “You made it, Emma. I only adjusted it a little.”

Wordless, Emma embraced her grandmother. They stood like that for a moment, until voices from the hallway outside shocked them apart.

“Hey Cinderemma, where are our cloaks that you went to fetch?” Shelby called. Her voice sounded like it was getting nearer.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you haven’t –” Kaylee cut herself off when she entered the kitchen and her eyes fell upon the dress. “What’s this?” she asked sharply.

The sisters prowled into the room, flanking Emma and her grandmother. As the stepsisters circled them, Shelby said, “Did poor little Cinderemma want to go to the ball? Have a bit of fun with the rest of us? How pitiful.”

“Is this what you were going to wear?” Kaylee reached the mantel and pinched the dress’s fabric with disdainful fingers. “It is truly atrocious.”

Leaning casually against a counter, Shelby directed her next comment to her sister. “Isn’t that one of your old castoffs, Kaylee?”

Kaylee took a closer look at the fabric. “Oh my gosh, it is. Isn’t that sad, Shelbs? Little Cinderemma couldn’t even get her own dress.” To Emma, she sneered and said, “This is so not your colour anyways. I’m going to do you a favour.”

With a jerk of her arms, Kaylee ripped one of the sleeves off the dress. She kept an eye on Emma while she did so, as if to gauge her reaction. Emma flinched at the tearing noise and paled, but otherwise said nothing. Betsy, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with fury.

“How dare you treat Emma like this?” Betsy rounded on the sisters. “She has done nothing to deserve this, nothing! You flounce in here with your dresses and your petty little comments, and I ask you, what right could you possibly have to do this?”

Shelby stood up and hurled a jar toward Emma with surprising strength. It shattered, scattering lentils in front of the hearth. Emma flinched again and Betsy was startled into a shaken silence. Shelby stalked toward them, her voice icy enough to do her mother proud. “Do not ever tell me what to do, old woman. This is not your house. You have no power here.”

Tossing the dress aside, where it landed in the fire, Kaylee pinned them in on the other side. The dress quickly caught alight, the flames swelling and licking hungrily at the darkening fabric, crumbling into ashes which the tongues of flame swept onto the floor. “Looks like you can’t go to the ball now, Cinderemma. You haven’t got a dress, and besides, you’ve got to clean up all this mess before you can go anywhere.”

Emma hurried to the corner, where she collected a broom and dustpan. She had only just started sweeping the ashy lentils up from the floor when Shelby stopped her.

“We can’t have all of those lentils go to waste. You’ll have to pick them up one by one and wash them.” Emma looked at her, silently resisting. Shelby pushed harder. “On your hands and knees now, like a good servant.”

Emma still didn’t move.

Shelby flicked her eyes in Betsy’s direction, and at that, Emma finally dropped onto the floor and began picking lentils up, one by one. Betsy rushed to help her, but was stopped by Kaylee.  For a moment it seemed as if Betsy was going to attack Kaylee, but was interrupted before she could.

A delicate cough sounded from behind them. Turning around, they saw the master and mistress of the house standing in the doorway, having finally come to investigate the commotion.

“What’s going on here?” Emma’s stepmother addressed the room, her clear voice echoing in the sudden quiet.

Everyone began to speak at once. Wincing at the racket, the stepmother pointed at Shelby and motioned for her to explain. Shelby looked smug. Betsy seethed. Emma dropped her eyes to the floor.

“Well, mother,” Shelby was putting on her sweetest little-girl voice. “I dropped the lentil jar, and I was just asking Cin – Emma if she would tidy it up for me. It would take so long to pick all the beans up, and we have to leave soon to go to the ball. Not to mention that grubbing on the floor would be so unladylike, and ruin my gown as well.”

Kaylee chimed in too. “And Betsy was going to try to help but I thought we should stop her, as leaning down like that would be so hard on her back.”

Their mother smiled. “That’s very considerate of you. Come along, girls, the carriage is nearly ready.”

Kaylee and Shelby brushed past Emma as they exited the kitchen. “We’ll be sure to tell you all about the ball tomorrow, Emma, don’t you worry,” Shelby assured her.  

Walking to stand in from of her son-in-law, Betsy stared up at him and said, “Don’t you want to hear my side of the story? Those girls –”

Emma’s father shook his head, cutting Betsy off. “My girls are right, Betsy. You’re getting old now, and you have to start taking care of yourself. Why don’t you go sit by the parlour fire in your chair, and we can have a hot posset made for you. Now, we’re going to go see the girls off. Excuse me.”

It wasn’t lost on Emma that he’d refused to say her name and had referred to Kaylee and Shelby as ‘his girls’ instead. Left alone in the kitchen with Betsy, she blinked back tears and returned to gathering up the lentils strewn amongst the ashes of her short-lived ballgown. In the silence, the two of them could clearly hear the soft sounds of the stepsisters being farewelled, and the distant clopping of horses’ hooves as they set off toward the palace.

Fixing her eyes on the floor, Emma battled with the despair that threatened to rise up within her. She determinedly picked up one lentil after another, biting her lip in an effort to keep tears at bay. Emma didn’t cry. Her only resistance against her stepmother and stepsisters was to stubbornly show them that they couldn’t get to her.

“Emma – ” Betsy began, but was cut off by her granddaughter.

“Don’t worry about it, Grandma,” Emma gritted out, knowing that if Betsy tried to comfort her she would lose control and burst into tears.

“Oh, Emma.” Betsy sighed. “I’m so sorry that they did this to you.”

Betsy knelt next to Emma, and over her increasingly watery protests, pulled Emma into a warm hug, wrapping her arms around her granddaughter. Emma gave in, burying her face in her grandmother’s shoulder, and let out a half-choked sob.

“It’s – it’s so hard,” Emma said in a tearstained voice, not emerging from her grandmother’s shoulder. “I was really – I really wanted – I thought maybe… maybe something would change.” A fresh wave of sobs wracked her body anew.

“Hush, darling,” Betsy soothed. “Don’t try to talk, just let it out.” She had never seen Emma cry like this – had never seen Emma cry at all – and holding her shaking granddaughter in her arms made Betsy realise just how young she still was. So young to have suffered so much hardship. A tear trickled down her lined cheek, but she wouldn’t let go of Emma to wipe it away.

Curiously, though the fire was dying down, the room seemed to be getting brighter, filling with a sourceless silver light. Betsy looked around, squinting now into the bright light, trying to discern its source.

With a shimmering sound – if a sound could be said to shimmer – glitter fell from above and dusted Emma and Betsy’s heads and shoulders. The shimmering noise rose into a sparkling crescendo, and with a fanfare of horns, a _being_ popped into existence before the fireplace.

Hearing the disturbance, Emma raised her head from Betsy’s shoulder, turned around, and froze. Standing in front of them – no, not standing, _floating_ , impossibly – was a man.

He was the queerest-looking man Emma had ever seen.

He wore a silver tuxedo which appeared to be glowing slightly, as if lit from within. His aquamarine bow tie and matching cummerbund rippled and shone, almost like they really were liquid. His hair had obviously been combed with care, and his posture was a work of art. The buttons of his shirt strained near-imperceptibly over his paunch, yet he exuded an aura of sheer confidence. Most remarkably of all, he had wings. Shiny gossamer wings which, beating gently, refracted the light in every direction in every colour imaginable.

Emma and Betsy stared at his glorious butterfly wings, speechless.

“Barry Glickman, at your service.” The man bowed extravagantly, showing a remarkable amount of flexibility. Grandmother and granddaughter said nothing. He sighed and pointed at his face. “My eyes are up here, ladies.”

Emma reluctantly tore her eyes away from his wings. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I literally just told you. Like, right then.” He rolled his eyes. “Alright, once more for the people who weren’t paying attention: Barry Glickman, fairy godmother, at your service. Happy now?”

“Sure,” Emma said dazedly, rubbing her eyes.

Barry leaned in closer to get a good look at her. Noticing her reddened eyes, he said, “Oh, honey, what’s wrong? Tell me what’s happened to you.”

Betsy gave Emma’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Emma took a couple of breaths, waiting for the wobbliness that follows crying to subside.

“I wanted to go to the ball,” she began tremulously, “but, uhh, my stepsisters didn’t let me.” Emma faltered, eyes flickering toward the ruin of her dress. She was hesitant to say more about the events of that night, and of every day that had gone before it.

Seeing her reluctance to expand on matters, Betsy stepped forward. Barry immediately understood the look in her eyes. He beat his glorious wings once and floated a few steps backwards to give Emma some space. Barry leaned down, and Betsy whispered into his ear for a few moments.

When he straightened up, Emma saw a new resolve in his eyes. “Darling, we are going to get you a dress – no, we are going to get you a ballgown. And girl, by the time I’m finished with you, you are going to look fabulous!” Barry clapped his hands together with satisfaction.

“Yes sir,” Emma replied. “Um, ma’am. Sir?”

Barry waved a hand at her dismissively. “Just call me Barry.”

So saying, he folded his wings behind his back, dropped gracefully to the ground and paced a circle around Emma, looking at what he had to work with. It made Emma feel oddly vulnerable, but not uncomfortable. Strange as Barry was, she felt like she could trust him.

Having done that, Barry returned to Betsy’s side, and began to confer with her in a low murmur. It was a long conversation. Emma sat down. Occasionally one of them would cast an appraising glance her way, then say something to the other. Betsy said something that made Barry beam. In turn, he whispered something and she cackled.

“What are you two plotting?” Emma called over to them.

“Nothing,” they replied in unison, grinning identical grins.

“We’re just discussing the finer details of your dress,” Betsy said, eyes crinkling.

“It’s going to be gorgeous. Simply stunning,” said Barry with aplomb. “Look.”

From somewhere within his silver tuxedo, Barry whipped out a long, silver wand, topped with a glittery star and two long ribbons. Emma gave him a look, and he shrugged innocently. Somehow, the ostentatious wand fit right in with his outfit.

“Bippity-boppity-boo!” Barry declaimed in a sing-song voice. At that, Emma and Betsy both cast him an incredulous look, which he duly ignored.

He waved the wand over Emma’s head, causing silver sparks to cascade down around her. They felt surprisingly cool as they alit on her skin. Emma felt a swish of fabric, and a dress fell into being around her.

The fabric brushed softly against Emma’s skin, and she gathered the folds of the dress into her hands, admiring the play of light against the rich cloth. Looking down, she saw that as the dress belled out, it revealed panels of a darker brocade alternating with swathes of rosy pink.

At a gesture from Barry, a mirror silently appeared to her side. Emma turned and stared at her reflection. She could barely recognise herself. The dress left her shoulders and arms bare, and gathered at the waist to fan out into a graceful skirt whose length just grazed the floor. Self-consciously, she touched a hand to her hair, which now shone brightly in the firelight, falling in delicate curls to caress her jawline. The silver sparks had washed her miraculously clean, and for the first time in years, Emma saw herself as she simply was – devoid of ash, of cinders, of dust. She saw a girl, smiling sheepishly at herself, a little awkward in her unaccustomed finery but happy nonetheless. She smiled at her reflection, and it seemed to stand up a little straighter, as if shedding a load from its back.

Emma tried a half-spin, and gave a small laugh of delight as the dress swirled around her legs. Looking helplessly happy, she turned to Barry and said simply, “Thank you.”

He and Betsy were standing arm in arm, eyes shining.

“You look beautiful,” Betsy said.

Barry covered his mouth with his hand. “Darling,” he said, sounding oddly choked, “you haven’t got a single shred of jewellery. I’m so sorry. Let me think a second.”

“No, Barry,” Emma hastened to say. “It looks – I like it. I don’t need any jewellery.”

 “Less is more,” added Betsy wisely. Walking over to Emma and cupping her granddaughter’s face in her hands, Betsy said delightedly, “I finally got you in a pink dress, Emma. Can you believe it?”

“It’s a bit… well, it feels a bit revealing, doesn’t it?” Emma asked nervously.

“Nonsense,” Barry said. “You have to show off your assets, darling. And I have to say, your skin is absolutely amazing. You should be really proud. It’s so delicate, like porcelain. And the dress – yes, I think we’ve done well. Give us a twirl.”

Barry extended his hand to Emma and she took it, allowing him to spin her around and around, her dress flaring out around her in a circle of bright colour, until she was dizzy and laughing. When she came to a stop, he took both her hands in his and looked searchingly into her eyes.

“My work here is done,” he said in a solemn tone. “Go forth. Be happy.”

“Get the girl!” Betsy chimed in playfully.

Emma blushed. “Grandma, there is no girl!” Time after time, Betsy and Emma retraced the refrains of Betsy’s teasing, and they had yet to grow tired of the casual ribbing.

“Well,” Emma said, smoothing down the sides of her dress. “What now?”

Barry replied, “You go to the ball. You dance with beautiful ladies. You sample the exquisite catering. You have the night of your life. Oh, and you come back before midnight – I know I’m fabulous, but really, you can’t expect magic of this calibre to last forever.”

Emma nodded, then remembered something. “The lentils!” she burst out.

“Darling, what sort of third-rate fairy godmother do you take me for?” Barry handed her the lentil jar, restored to its original form. Emma took it, and returned it to its place on the counter.

“What are you waiting for? Go on, your carriage is out the front. Time’s a-wasting!” As he spoke, Barry chivvied her out of the kitchen, through the hallway, and out the front door, where a carriage was indeed waiting. A pure white horse whickered softly, tossing its head. The carriage behind it was small yet elegantly carved out of rosewood.

Barry opened the carriage door and helped Emma in before returning to Betsy’s side. “To the palace!” he announced, and the horse promptly started trotting off.

Leaning out of the window and looking back, Emma saw the two of them standing side by side on the landing, waving at her. Emma gave them a happy wave back. Betsy smiled at Emma lovingly. Barry surreptitiously wiped a tear out of the corner of his eye. They looked like two proud parents, delighted and nervous to be sending their daughter off to a ball.

 

* * *

 

The night was young and the palace ballroom seethed with people. The centre of the space was full of dancing couples, while tables and chairs set back against the walls held groups of boys and gaggles of girls resting their feet. The shifting light from a delicate central chandelier lent the whole scene an otherworldly light. A long buffet table rested along one side of the ballroom, groaning under the weight of a smorgasbord of hors d’oeuvres and petit fours.

It was at this table that Princess Alyssa sat, picking at a pasta dish. Having danced with countless young nobles, she was giving herself a brief respite from the role of hostess. Still, a swarm of young men fluttered around her, hoping to receive a chance smile or comment as a sign of the princess’s favour. She sighed internally, wishing she could have a moment of peace and quiet. _(Don’t complain, Alyssa. A queen never shows discomfort.)_

Alyssa dutifully kept an eye on the entrance to the hall as she ate her pasta, all while nodding and smiling occasionally at the young men surrounding her. _(Don’t eat that, Alyssa. A queen’s figure must be perfect.)_ Lords and ladies swathed in expensive cloth and dripping in jewellery continued to trickle into the chamber, ostensibly to arrive ‘fashionably late’. The princess had to take note of each one who entered, so that she would be able to greet them later. It would not do for any of the people in the room to feel snubbed by the royal family. It was, however, immensely draining. At least the heralds made her job easier, loudly announcing the names and titles of each guest. Alyssa did not care one whit about who-was-who-in-relation-to-whom, or how many diamonds the women (and some men) festooned themselves with. Some of them seemed to believe that the one to wear the most costly clothing would be the one to win her hand.

So it was that Princess Alyssa noticed when Emma came in to the hall. Her attention was piqued as although Emma had arrived late – fashionably so – she had shooed away the herald when he attempted to announce her. Alyssa frowned. _(Don’t screw up your face, Alyssa. A queen cannot be prematurely wrinkled.)_ That girl was unusual. Even the minor nobility and the merchant classes had had their names announced, even if they were called ‘John, the silk-merchant’s son’ or ‘Kaylee and Shelby, of the Nolan family’. Moreover, the girl wasn’t wearing any jewellery that Alyssa could see. Her dress in a rose brocade was in fact quite tasteful, and she stood out from all the garishly dressed partiers. Even from the other side of the room, Alyssa could tell that the newcomer felt a little out of place, lacking the staggering self-confidence characteristic of the minor nobility.

She would have liked to go to the girl in the rosebud dress and perhaps be able to set her at ease, but was drawn back into the conversation around her. Pausing to dispense a smile to Christopher (son of the Viceroy), Alyssa lost track of the girl in the crowd. She set aside her curiosity and turned to make small talk with the heir to the Redmond estate.

-

Emma slipped easily into the crowd, turning her head to marvel at each new sight. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like her stepsisters had noticed her entrance, but Emma shuddered to think of what might have happened had the herald wrangled her name out of her.

Most of the people here were clustered into groups or couples, but one conglomeration of bodies near the buffet table drew her eye. Several young men were orbiting around a single girl, who stood out from all their black suits in a gown of pure white. The girl’s dress shimmered with every movement she made, but she was too far away for Emma to make out any of her features or the details of the dress.  

Everyone here was wearing the finest clothing Emma had ever seen, making her feel shabby even in the magical dress Barry had given her. The crystal chandelier dangling from the arched dome of the roof shimmered and sparkled just like Barry’s wings did, and Emma could have sworn that several of the women there were wearing earrings and necklaces every bit as sumptuous as the glowing chandelier. Not wearing a single gem, Emma began to feel a little naked.

Spotting someone dressed in a bright green dress who might’ve been Shelby sitting at a table with several young men, Emma spun around and began to walk in the opposite direction. Emma’s eyes darted back and forth, surveying the area for anybody who might recognise her. She made eye contact with the blacksmith’s daughter, who was dressed in a gown of deep red for a few seconds and turned away, heat rising into her cheeks.

As she turned, she nearly bumped into Kaylee. “Watch where you’re going!” Kaylee glared at her for a moment before moving off.

“S-sorry,” stammered Emma, but she was already gone. It seemed that her stepsister hadn’t recognised her now that she was free from ash and wore a new dress. Emma felt a knot in her chest loosen. If she was truly unrecognisable to her stepsisters, she could spend the night at the ball without having to hide from them.

Emma headed toward the buffet table; there hadn’t been many dinner scraps left over for her that evening and she could feel her stomach complaining. When she reached it, she couldn’t help letting out a small gasp. The table was laden with hundreds of sumptuous dishes both familiar and unfamiliar. Dishes of pasta, of salad, of exotic-looking couscous and rice dishes were laid out everywhere, surrounded by plates of delicate little sandwiches. Tiny cakes and cookies were piled into elegant tiered servers, and platters of finger foods Emma didn’t recognised dotted the spaces in-between the other dishes.

Picking up an empty plate from a stack, Emma selected a sample of every dish within her reach. She popped a piece of cheese into her mouth, then looked up to find a place to sit and enjoy her food. There weren’t very many people at the table around her – those guests that were getting food had all clustered around the girl in white, who was still fending off the advances of the many men around her. The girl had dark hair and brown skin, the warmth of which were rendered richer by the paleness of her gown. Emma squinted in the girl’s direction, trying to make out any of her features, but couldn’t. Was the girl looking at her?

Sitting down in the chair nearest to her, Emma devoured the contents of the plate. She had not eaten so well in years. Betsy had been right – the catering was absolutely mouth-watering.

Emma was considering heading back to the buffet to refill her plate when she saw the girl in white head onto the dance floor, trailing boys in her wake. Without thinking about it, Emma put her plate down and made her way into the dancing crowd. No one was dancing at the present moment, as the orchestra was taking a short break, but the floor was still thronged with people.

In the background, a violin began keening. The orchestra had reappeared, and were taking their places to begin another melody. A nervous bubble rose in Emma’s chest. She wasn’t much of a dancer – Emma hadn’t danced since her mother had died – and she cast about in search of a pathway through the people now rushing toward the dance floor.

Before Emma could escape, the crowd caught her up in the swirling dance, and Emma’s worry drained away as she recognised the tune. It was a popular song accompanying a minuet that her mother had taught her to dance.

Clasping hands with the noble next to her, Emma’s feet fell into the familiar tread of the choreography. After a brief few steps and crossings of arms and wrists, Emma was passed off to her next partner, and spinning, repeated the simple steps. It was an exhilarating affair – every person on the dance floor knew the steps and strangers danced in each other’s arms as if they were old friends. A grin broke out across her face.

Spinning from the arms of a blonde girl in a lavender dress, Emma came face to face with the girl in white, whose dress glimmered as hundreds of baby pearls sewn into its fabric reflected the light. Up close, Emma could see that the girl was gorgeous. Her dark eyes glinted merrily, and her full lips were curved into a smile that dimpled her left cheek. Her brown hair was piled into an elaborate bun that left several curls hanging attractively around her face. And she was wearing a delicately wrought silver coronet. Emma realised with a lurch that she was now dancing with the princess.

-

It was the girl in the pink dress. Alyssa could see that the girl was about her own age and attractive in a way that was utterly unlike anyone else in the room. She seemed more confident here on the dance floor, and the blush that powdered across her pale cheeks was entirely natural. Alyssa made eye contact with her as the girl twirled into her arms.

The girl’s grin faltered and her eyes widened momentarily as she met Alyssa’s gaze, before the smile slid from her face and she cast her eyes downward. Alyssa’s breath caught in her throat. In that brief glance she had seen that the girl’s eyes were arresting – they were a colour most people would call hazel; that colour that lay outside the usual bounds of blue, brown, green, and grey. But her eyes were no ordinary hazel. They shone in the glimmering light, as if they had captured the dust of the stars, a delicate shade somewhere in between amber and emerald.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Alyssa said softly, unable to help herself. The girl stumbled a step in her arms, and Alyssa smoothly righted her.

“I… me?”

“Yes, you.” Alyssa smiled again, enamoured by this girl’s shyness, so at odds to everyone else in the room. “They’re like dappled sunlight floating across the surface of a forest pool.”

The girl seemed frozen for a moment, then said, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

She then added, “You _are_ the princess, aren’t you?”

Alyssa let out a breath in a half-sigh. She had hoped the girl wouldn’t recognise her – people tended to treat her differently once they knew she was royalty – but she supposed the tiara her mother made her wear made her rather recognisable. “I am. And you are?”

There came a pause lasting several moments as the next few moves led them twirling around each other. When they were face to face again the girl said, a slight tremble in her voice, “Call me Cinder.”

“Cinder,” Alyssa repeated. She doubted that this was her real name, but with this taciturn stranger, Alyssa would take what she could get.

Failing to make eye contact as Cinder continued to cast her gaze toward the floor, Alyssa watched her face instead as they orbited each other in the intricate final steps of the dance, suffused with a strange desire to trace the impossibly smooth skin of the other girl’s cheek or to run her fingers through Cinder’s honey-blonde curls.

As the song reached its end, Alyssa grabbed Cinder’s wrist before she could leave. Cinder turned to look at her, appearing utterly baffled, unsure of what the princess could possibly want with her. Alyssa realised that she didn’t know what she wanted to say – she had stopped Cinder out of a sheer desire to remain in her presence.

“I enjoyed our dance,” she said finally, her eyes searching Cinder’s face to gauge her reaction. “Will you – may I have the next dance with you?”

Cinder looked astonished. “Um. Me?”

Alyssa chuckled softly. “Yes, you,” she said again. “I thought we’d established that.”

Cinder laughed sheepishly at herself, then smiled. It transformed her whole face, lighting it up from within. Alyssa couldn’t help but beam back at her. She extended her hand to Cinder, who took it after a moment’s hesitation. She settled her hand respectfully onto Alyssa’s waist, and they moved into the next dance, a stately waltz.

Alyssa could tell that Cinder still felt awkward, and so she did her best to steer her gently through the dance, subtly signalling each turn and step. Cinder seemed happy to follow her lead, and the pair danced together with the ease of an old couple, even though Cinder appeared to be intently watching the movement of their feet. Alyssa knew that she wouldn’t be able to see them – they were both wearing floor-length gowns – but didn’t remark on it.

Finally, Cinder looked up. “Your eyes are also very pretty. And you’re a very good dancer,” she said carefully, re-joining their brief conversation from the last dance.

Alyssa’s heart fluttered, jubilant that the girl was now comfortable enough to talk to her. Even better, the compliment had rung true, holding nothing of the fawning obsequiousness that had overshadowed her many interactions at the ball that night.

“They’re just brown,” she said, holding Cinder’s gaze. “Nowhere near as lovely as yours. And you’re not such a bad dancer yourself, really.”

Cinder shook her head. “I haven’t danced in years, so I’m really rusty. It’s a wonder I haven’t stepped on your feet yet. And don’t say your eyes are ‘just brown’ when they’re so…” she trailed off, unable to find a word to finish her sentence.

“So what?” Alyssa asked, curious. This girl was a mystery, and everything she said only made Alyssa more intrigued.

“They really stand out against your dress. It – I don’t know. I don’t know very much about dresses. But you look lovely.”

Recognising the change of subject, Alyssa gracefully went along with it. “I’d prefer a dress with more colour, but my mother insisted on white.” She rolled her eyes, then asked, “How did a girl who doesn’t know very much about dresses end up with one so stunning?”

Again, Cinder hesitated. “My grandmother and godmother gifted it to me for the ball.”

Alyssa didn’t press her further, despite the vagueness – and oddness – of her answer. She still had no inkling as to who Cinder was, but was unwilling to ask her anything directly for fear of ruining the one genuine interaction she’d had that night. Who was this girl, who looked and acted so differently from everyone else? Who was this girl, who wore no masks and curried no favour?

“Why did you ask me to dance with you?” Cinder suddenly asked, jolting Alyssa out of her thoughts.

Alyssa could easily have lied, have passed Cinder off with a blasé reason and gone to dance with one of the many nobles there like a good princess should. But she was honest instead, for she felt that this girl deserved her honesty. Cinder, so different from all the bootlickers surrounding Alyssa, despite her mysteries and half-answers, had not once pretended to be someone that she was not.

So Alyssa said, “I’m not sure.”

And then she said, “Because I could tell at first glance that you are utterly unlike anyone else here, and I mean that in the best possible way. You don’t seem interested in me purely as a pathway to power. You are the one girl here that isn’t wearing a dress just as a way to show off your wealth, and your smile is the loveliest thing I’ve seen in a while. And… I don’t know you yet, but I think I want to.”

“Oh,” Cinder said softly. They were both quiet.

On the dance floor, alone in their own little bubble, the two girls came to a halt as the song ended. They faced each other, hand in hand, for one brief moment.

In the distance, the palace clocks began to chime.

“I’m sorry,” Cinder said, pulling away reluctantly. “I have to go. Thank you for the dance, Your Highness.”

“Please, just call me Alyssa.” Alyssa’s heart caught at the look on Cinder’s face as she slipped out of Alyssa’s arms.

“Thank you, Alyssa.”

Then she was gone, and Alyssa stood alone in the centre of the ballroom.

“Princess Alyssa,” her mother called from behind her. “Have you made your decision?”

Alyssa turned, and saw that every person in the room was hushed, watching them. A thousand thoughts darted through her mind in a single second, and all she knew was that she wanted to see Cinder again and find out who she really was.

“Mother.” She greeted the queen regent with a deep curtesy, segueing into formality. “I have danced with many of the young suitors at this ball, and spoken to many more, and there are still more whom I have yet to meet, and whom I have yet to dance with.” A hope in her heart took root and sprouted the beginnings of an idea in her mind. “I propose we have a second ball, tomorrow night, where we shall continue the festivities, so that I am able to meet every suitor here tonight and make a fair choice.”

The crowd around them broke into excited murmurs, clearly approving the thought of having another marvellous ball. The queen regent cast Alyssa a steely glare, and strode closer to her.

Her mother whispered, “What are you doing, Alyssa? Another ball? Are you out of your mind?”

“Mother, I can’t possibly make a choice yet. I have barely had time to meet all of these gentlemen, let alone get to know any of them. I need more time,” Alyssa shot back under her breath. Upon seeing the look in her mother’s eyes, she added, “Look at everyone! They are enjoying themselves. I’ve had the opportunity to speak with the sons of several wealthy merchants and princes from neighbouring kingdoms; we have the chance to make some excellent connections. But that takes time, more time than this one night will allow.”

The queen regent stared into the princess’s eyes, searching for her motives. The princess looked back at her mother, determined, not backing down a step. Hoping that her mother wouldn’t read the selfish truth in her eyes. At last, the queen regent gave a terse nod, and the crowd hushed once more. “Don’t let me down, Alyssa,” her mother said as she turned to face the people.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the queen regent announced, “further festivities will be held tomorrow. The princess wishes to spend more time with her charming suitors and loyal subjects. For the present moment, continue making merry. The night is young yet!”

With that, the band struck up a lively tune and the people resumed dancing and eating and drinking and talking.

The queen regent turned back to Alyssa. “Alyssa. I’m trusting you as you are soon going to be queen of this kingdom. You’ll be the one making the decisions for the good of our land, and I am not going to be able to coddle you forever.”

“I know, mother,” replied Alyssa. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Her mother’s face softened. “It’s your night, Alyssa. It’s your ball! You should be having a wonderful time, just like any normal girl your age. It would be remiss of me to deny you that.”

As her mother left, Alyssa breathed a sigh of relief. While she had always been able to reason with her mother and turn things slightly in her favour at times, she had never outright challenged the queen regent like that before. It seemed that as Alyssa was nearly of age now, her mother had finally decided that she would be allowed to think for herself. Or perhaps she was merely hoping that Alyssa would live up to her promises and get engaged to someone like Nicholas, the heir to the neighbouring kingdom’s throne.

Alyssa squared her shoulders, and thought back to her mental list of lords and ladies that she had yet to greet. It was going to be a long night.

She held tight to the hope that she would see Cinder again, and strode off into the gathering.

-

In the carriage, Emma’s cheeks burned. Thoughts whirled through her mind. She had called the princess by her given name. Alyssa. She had danced with the princess. She had told the princess that her name was Cinder. Why had she said that? Cinder wasn’t any better than Emma as far as false names went – Kaylee and Shelby would know who she was as soon as they heard it mentioned.

She had danced with the princess. No, she had danced with Alyssa. For it wasn’t the princess Emma was interested in, with her bejewelled tiara and gown, but Alyssa. Alyssa, who had dreamy brown eyes and an enticingly kissable smile.

Emma blushed harder. Alyssa was Alyssa. And Emma was Emma. She shouldn’t be thinking about the princess at all, no matter how pretty she was.

Emma had made a fool of herself, hadn’t she? Acting all tongue-tied and awkward and shy, while Alyssa had been so effortlessly elegant.

And Alyssa had been so kind to her. So unnecessarily, bafflingly kind. The thing was, it didn’t even seem to be a joke, or a trick, or a lie. Alyssa seemed… genuine.

Emma didn’t know how she felt about that.

It was only eleven o’clock, still an hour away from her midnight deadline. Emma could have stayed for a while longer yet, basking in Alyssa’s warm presence. But she had to make sure that she was home before her stepsisters, and staying with Alyssa for longer would have just made leaving harder. Emma was never going to see Alyssa again, and though they barely knew each other, she found herself wishing things could be different. There was something about Alyssa that just felt right.

Emma shook herself out of her strange mood. No, it was better this way. Better to just have had that one, perfect dance with Alyssa. Before Alyssa could realise that her eyes were in fact a muddy mongrel colour; that her beautiful, substanceless dress was conjured from magic and wishes; that Alyssa didn’t actually want to know her after all. Before Alyssa could see who Emma really was – plain little Cinderemma, dressed in rags and tatters; the lowest of the low, with not a single dress or jewel to her name.

A bittersweet feeling flooded Emma’s chest, forcing a wry smile to her lips.

She would go home, and tell Betsy that she’d had a wonderful night. The food had been delicious, and the atmosphere exhilarating. She’d tell Betsy that she’d had one lovely dance with a beautiful girl, and then she would put it out of her mind.

It would only ever be another one of the precious memories Emma would cherish in the quiet in-between moments of her life to tide her through the day.

 

* * *

 

The following evening, the whole town was aflutter once more. Word had spread that the princess’s ball was not yet over – everyone was invited to another night of celebration at the palace. All across town, girls were desperately searching for suitable dresses to wear (it was absolutely unthinkable that they go wearing the same gowns they’d worn last night), and boys who hadn’t yet had the chance to dance with the princess were practicing their best lines in their mirrors. It was another chance for the partiers to party, the flirtatious to flirt, the dancers to dance, and for the social-climbers to social-climb.

At Emma’s house, everything was chaos.  

A dressmaker had been called and was making last minute adjustments to Kaylee and Shelby’s gowns as the two girls stood imperiously in front of their dressers, fixing their hair and makeup. Emma scurried to and fro, frantically carrying out all the commands tossed her way. She put away each item as Kaylee and Shelby discarded them and fetched them the new items they required, all while listening to the two yammer on about how splendid last night’s ball had been.

Emma had successfully tuned them out until she heard Kaylee say, “Princess Alyssa was so stunning, don’t you think? I can’t imagine how much that dress would have cost.”

“Well, she is a princess,” Shelby replied, pointing out the obvious.  “She was so gracious, too. Remember when she greeted us by name?”

Kaylee nodded. “But who was the beautiful lady she was dancing with, though?”

Shelby frowned. “I have no idea, and no one else there seemed to either. Princess Alyssa danced with her twice in a row, didn’t she? So the lady has to be someone really important.”

“Maybe she’s another princess?”

“Or a merchant-king’s daughter?”

“Well, she’ll be back tonight at any rate, and we can find out then.”

Emma busied herself tidying Kaylee’s dresser, hoping to hide the way her hands were shaking. If either of her stepsisters found out that Emma had been at the ball, they would – she couldn’t imagine what they would do. It certainly wouldn’t be pleasant.

Emma wasn’t going to go that night, though, so there was little chance of her stepsisters finding her out. Part of Emma wished that she could go and see Alyssa again, but another part of her knew that the idea of anything else happening with Alyssa was impossible. She reasoned that it was best this way – this way Alyssa would never realise what a colossal disappointment Emma actually was, and Emma would never have to risk Kaylee and Shelby finding out who the mysterious lady really was.

Once Kaylee and Shelby left, Emma breathed a sigh of relief, finally taking the chance to sit down by the kitchen fire and make of meal of the day’s meagre leftovers.

“Aren’t you going to go to the ball?” Betsy asked as she came into the kitchen to sit next to Emma.

“In what dress, grandma,” said Emma flatly. It came out more bitter than she had intended, and her eyes stung unexpectedly. Try as she might to deny it, deep down Emma wanted nothing more than another dance with Alyssa, no matter the risk.

“We could ask Barry,” Betsy suggested, undeterred.

Emma narrowed her eyes at her grandmother in suspicion. Betsy’s eyes were sparkling mischievously, her face artfully innocuous. Emma shuddered to think of the havoc Betsy and Barry could have wreaked last night while she was at the ball. “Do you know something I don’t, grandma?”

Betsy shrugged, eyes still laughing. “I’m just saying, you could ask Barry.”

Emma sighed, defeated. What did she have to lose, anyways?

“Barry?” she asked the empty air half-heartedly, feeling at once hopeful and silly.

Nothing happened, and Emma turned to her grandmother, opening her mouth for an I-told-you-so. She was interrupted by a familiar shimmering noise, ringing through the room in a bell-like tone.

Barry popped into existence in front of them, wearing silvery slacks and a suit jacket paired with an odd sort of button-less, collar-less shirt. His jacket and pants glowed with the same aura of magic he’d been swathed in last night, but the shirt appeared to be of a plain cottony material in a dark black, accentuating the bright blue of his wings. A large pink heart was emblazoned across the shirtfront, paired with the words ‘sausage rolls not gender roles’.

“We’ve dropped the suit, I see,” Betsy teased.

Emma looked at her grandmother, astonished by her familiar manner. Barry didn’t seem to be offended at all.

“Ta-da!” he said proudly. “Do you like the shirt?”

“I don’t know what those words mean,” Emma said. “Sausage rolls? Gender roles?”

Barry sighed, kneading the bridge of his nose with two fingers as his glittering wings billowed and he floated down to seat himself on the kitchen counter. “Of course you don’t. It’s a souvenir?” he said hopefully.

At their blank looks, he added, “From the Land of the Rainbow Serpent?”

Emma and Betsy shook their heads.

Barry muttered something about ‘archaic’ and ‘medieval’ somethings, then sighed again. “Well, never you mind, my dear, that’s not what we’re here for. _We_ are here for _you_!” He grinned widely and kicked his legs in the air, before settling down and adopting a serious air. “Another night at the ball, hmm? Well, you’ll certainly need a dress. Not to worry, darling, I have just the thing in mind.”

With a skip and a flap of his wings, Barry sprung into the air once more, pacing in dizzying circles around Emma as he mumbled under his breath. His wand showered silver sparks through the air, which floated gently to the ground or landed on Emma before winking out. As before, a dress came into being where there hadn’t been one before, and Emma found herself swathed in taffeta and tulle. This gown was cut similarly to the last one – it was sleeveless, hemmed at the waist, and fell to brush the floor. But tonight’s gown was airy in every sense of the word. It was a soaring sky blue. Its skirt floated around Emma’s legs in layers of light, frothy silk and lace.

“Why, Barry, you’ve outdone yourself,” Betsy exclaimed delightedly.

Barry took an extravagant bow in mid-air, butterfly wings fluttering. “What do you think?” he asked Emma.

Emma beamed at him. “I love it. Thank you so much. ”

“Oh, nonsense. It’s my job, that’s all.”

Emma tore her eyes from her reflection and took a step back. “I do have one request, though. Can you teach me to dance?”

Barry looked dumbfounded. “You can’t… you don’t know how… to dance?”

“I do!” Emma said defensively. “I just haven’t for a while. Not since my mother…” She drifted off, then pulled herself out of her thoughts. “Anyway, I really need the help. I’m so out of practice, I probably made an absolute fool of myself last night.”

“Fiddledeedee.” Barry brushed off her concerns. “A couple of turns around the room and you’ll be good to go.” He held out his hand to her and floated down to the ground, though he was still nearly a head taller than Emma. “Never let it be said that Barry Glickman refused an opportunity to dance. May I have this dance, milady?”

Emma giggled and took his hand. “You may.”

At a snap of Barry’s fingers, the music of a full orchestra resonated through the room, and he rapidly spun Emma into the steps of a quadrille. Barry was an excellent dancer – he faltered not a single step through each of the several dances he led Emma through, and Emma soon found herself picking up patterns both old and new. She suspected that some of Barry’s magic was at play, but couldn’t tell for sure.

After a few dances, Barry spun Emma out of his arms to fall into a chair, before pulling Betsy up onto his impromptu dance floor. Betsy laughed and protested simultaneously while Barry dragged her up, then gave in and initiated the opening steps for a tango.

Barry gasped, “Are you _leading_?”

Betsy arched an eyebrow and dipped Barry in reply. Emma couldn’t help clapping, then drew her breath in and held it as Betsy led Barry into a fast-paced step routine. In the next several minutes, Emma bore witness to some of the best dancing she’d ever seen. Betsy and Barry both danced with the vigour of people several decades younger than them, and she found herself admiring the pair’s skill and confidence. All too soon, the dance was over.

Breathless, Betsy sunk down next to Emma, looking younger than she had in years.

“Thank you for the dance,” Barry said, oddly formal.

“You are most welcome,” Betsy replied.

“Well, Emma, it’s past time you headed off.” Barry solemnly linked arms with Emma and led her toward the front door. “Don’t worry, you look radiant. Your girl is going to lose her mind when she sees you.”

Emma stopped in her tracks. “How do you know about Al – her?”

“Fairy godmother,” Barry said, as if that explained everything. Which it did.

“It was just one dance,” Emma said, the beginnings of a blush rising to her cheeks. “Two dances, maybe.”

Barry said nothing, just looked at Emma knowingly as he helped her into the carriage.

“Have a wonderful night!” Betsy called.

Barry saluted her, and Emma was off. This time, she didn’t look back. Only forwards. Toward the palace, toward the ball, toward Alyssa.

 

* * *

 

Alyssa stepped away as her handmaid, Lilliana, tried to help her dress. Her mother had left her to her own devices tonight, being far too preoccupied with organising the ball to fuss over what Alyssa was wearing. _(Go change, Alyssa. A queen must dress elegantly.)_ Alyssa had picked out a simple blue dress this evening, and she didn’t need Lilliana’s help to put it on.

Lilliana came forward with a coronet, this one of gold studded with sapphires and opals, but Alyssa waved her away. She didn’t want to wear her status like a sign, marking her out as different, as other, painting her as a trophy or a target. Alyssa turned to look at her reflection, and smiled in satisfaction. She looked almost ordinary.

The smile slid from her face as she heard a rapping at her chamber door and her mother entered. “Alyssa,” her mother said curtly, looking her up and down. “Are you nearly ready? The guests began to arrive half an hour ago.”

“Yes, mother.” Alyssa turned back to her mirror. “I’ll be down soon.”

“Where’s your crown?” She could her the judgement in her mother’s voice. _(Put your crown back on, Alyssa. A queen is regal.)_ Alyssa was nearly of age, and part of her was sick and tired of her mother telling her what to do. Ever since her father left – Alyssa caught the thought and snuffed it out before she could enter territory she wouldn’t be able to leave.

“You are a princess, Alyssa.” The queen regent’s voice was stern. “You must dress as befits your station.”

“I know, I just –” Alyssa broke off, swallowing her words as she thought better of them. Her eyes caught on a strand of pearls on her dresser. “I thought maybe I should wear something else. Try something new.”

She picked up the pearls, letting them play over her fingers. “I could wear these in my hair,” Alyssa said, controlling her voice to remove any trace of doubt, of weakness. _(Don’t be so emotional, Alyssa. A queen must have control if she is to rule.)_ “They would go better with my dress.”

“Hmm.” Her mother made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat, her disapproval plain.

“After all, I must look my best for Prince Nicholas,” Alyssa added sweetly, hating the words even as she forced them out of her mouth.

“Very well.” The queen regent relented. “I’ll see you in the ballroom shortly, then.”

Alyssa fixed her eyes firmly on her reflection and watched her mother leave through the mirror. She let Lilliana assist her in piling her hair into a bun and pin strings of pearls into it. When they were firmly in place, Lilliana stepped back, and Alyssa scrutinised herself in the mirror. She had to admit that it was striking, adding a flair to her otherwise minimalistic attire.

With a brief word of thanks to her handmaiden, Alyssa left her rooms and walked toward the central ballroom. She smoothed down her dress, took a breath, and plastered a gracious smile onto her face before she entered. The herald announced her in a blast of trumpets, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Alyssa Maria Isabelle Abigail Anna Grace Greene, First of Her Name.” Alyssa cringed internally, but nodded and smiled as the crowd turned to watch her descend the crystal stairs into the room.

Without breaking her practised poise, Alyssa’s eyes searched the room for a girl with short blonde hair. Where was Cinder? What would she be wearing? Alyssa was struck with the sudden fear that she wouldn’t be able to recognise Cinder – or worse, that Cinder wouldn’t come. She was torn from her search as one of the young nobles she hadn’t met yet greeted her and drew her into a conversation.

For the next hour or so, Alyssa talked to all the right people, and smiled in all the right places, and danced when she was asked to. She talked to lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, counts and viscounts, merchants and plain old townsfolk. It seemed as if the whole kingdom had come to dance at the ball, and Alyssa was going to have to welcome all of them. Endless streams of young men repeated the same few pickup lines to her, and Alyssa had to pretend to laugh and be interested. _(Don’t be rude, Alyssa. Don’t offend anyone, Alyssa. A queen is patient. A queen is diplomatic.)_ To keep her promise to her mother, Alyssa danced a minuet and a farandole with the Prince Nicholas, who was perfectly civil though Alyssa suspected he was more interested in several of the other ladies in attendance than in a politically advantageous marriage. She couldn’t fault him for that. Not when her own interests lay elsewhere as well.

Every fibre of her being yearned toward the entrance hall. Every one of her senses was tuned to await Cinder’s entrance. Alyssa felt like a string pulled taut.

An almost imperceptible shift in the air – indiscernible to anyone else – prompted Alyssa to turn her head toward the entrance just as Cinder stepped into the hall. Moments later, a whisper rippled through the crowd as people began to realise that the mysterious lady had reappeared.

Alyssa drew gently away from the conversation between the Chancellor and Viscount Emer, moving toward Cinder. She was barely even aware of her feet moving, pulled along by an invisible thread between them, held tight in the sway of an unseen current moving betwixt them.

Many of the people in the room were openly staring at Cinder, and Alyssa could understand exactly why. The girl was absolutely radiant. Her dress floated around her in the light blue of the summer sky, and her hair fell in golden waves that were sunlight incarnate. Cinder met Alyssa’s eyes from across the room and Alyssa saw a smile form across her face. It was a smile like dawn breaking, a glowing sunshine smile that warmed Alyssa from head to toe.

They met in the centre of room, surrounded by lords and ladies who were dancing in groups and pairs. The crowd as a whole had soon lost interest in Cinder, though individual nobles in the crowd were still watching them. Alyssa didn’t care.

“Hello,” Alyssa greeted Cinder, a little breathless.

“Good evening,” Cinder replied. Her smile grew a little brighter, and she tucked a lock of stray hair behind her ear, where it immediately fell back forward to frame her face once more. The adorable gesture tugged the corners of Alyssa’s mouth up into a helpless grin. She found it almost impossible to retain her veneer of regal elegance around the other girl, which was both a struggle and a relief.

Cinder met Alyssa’s eyes and her heart missed a beat. In the instant their eyes met, Alyssa saw an open honesty and vulnerability in Cinder’s eyes that she’d never seen in anyone’s eyes before. Cinder immediately blushed and dropped her eyes, shielding them with her delicate lashes, dark against her pale skin.

Alyssa closed the remaining distance between them, offering Cinder her hand and leading her into the next dance.

“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” Alyssa said softly.

Cinder flashed her a startled look. “You were worried?”

“Yes.” And it was the truth. Something about Cinder inspired honesty in Alyssa. “I wanted to see you again, so I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

Cinder somehow managed to look both pleased and concerned at the same time. “Really? I… to be honest, I wasn’t planning to come. I wanted to see you again, but I wasn’t sure you would remember me. And then Barry and Betsy convinced me to come so… here I am.”

A sudden flash of insight gave Alyssa clarity into Cinder’s shyness. The other girl clearly couldn’t believe that Alyssa would ever have a genuine interest in her, and Alyssa needed her to. Not only because Cinder made Alyssa feel alive, and happy, and like she was finally doing something she actually wanted to do, but also because it was heartbreaking to think that Cinder didn’t know her own worth.

“Cinder.” Alyssa twirled the girl under their linked hands, watching the azure dress bell out in a cloud around their legs. “I could never forget you. Please believe me when I say there’s no one else here I’d rather be dancing with.”

Lost for words, Cinder ignored Alyssa’s compliments and instead mumbled, “That’s not really my name.”

“I know.” Alyssa had already anticipated that, of course. She could respect Cinder’s privacy – Alyssa could think of few commodities more precious – but she couldn’t help wondering what Cinder’s real name was. Surely it was something beautiful, something simple yet elegant to suit the unpretentious girl dancing at her side.

Cinder turned to face Alyssa, guilt written across her features. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Alyssa, but I just can’t tell you my name. I’m not supposed to be here, and if anyone found out…” She trailed off, casting a worried glance over to the opposite side of the ballroom.

Alyssa turned her head to see who or what Cinder was looking at, but couldn’t pick it out from the sea of faces. Cinder seemed rather miserable, and Alyssa tried to reassure her. “I can respect that. I can’t say I don’t want to know your name, but it does add to your mysterious charm,” she quipped.

Cinder gave Alyssa a faltering smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, so Alyssa changed the subject. “Who are Barry and Betsy?”

“Betsy’s my grandmother!” Cinder’s face immediately brightened. “She’s always there for me and she always knows exactly what to say. She’s the person I’m closest to in all the world.”

Alyssa was pleased by Cinder’s obvious affection for her grandmother, but felt an odd tightness in her chest. Jealousy? She pushed it away, glad that this portion of the dance didn’t require her to face her partner.

“And Barry?” she prompted, linking her arm with Cinder’s at the elbow and sneaking a glance at the other girl’s face.

Curiously, Cinder hesitated before replying, her face flickering through several emotions which Alyssa identified as fondness, confusion, and indecision. When Cinder said, “Barry’s my godfather,” Alyssa detected a quaver of uncertainty in her voice.

“Your godfather?”

“Yes?” Cinder half replied, half asked.

“You don’t sound very sure,” Alyssa teased. “How can you not be sure that someone’s your godfather?”

Cinder creased her brow. It was adorable. “Well,” she started earnestly, “Barry introduced himself as my fairy godmother, but he’s a man, I think… and he wore this odd shirt that said ‘sausage rolls not gender roles’ which I feel might have something to do with it all but I don’t actually understand what it means and – I’m babbling. Sorry.”

“Not at all,” Alyssa said. “Don’t apologise. In fact, please babble more. You have no idea how refreshing it is to actually _talk_ to someone.”

A few more steps from side to side brought them back face to face, and at Cinder’s slightly bemused expression, Alyssa explained further. “Nobles – or as I secretly think of them, court toadies,” Emma laughed at that, then made a guilty face, “have an awful obsession with making as much inane small talk as they can. Trivial comments about the weather, petty gossip about what so-and-so did yesterday – it’s enough to drive me mad. Everything at court is scheduled and planned, and even the conversations get to feel like clockwork sometimes. Talking to you – you’re so genuine, Cinder. Do you know how rare that is?”

“I’d never thought about it.” Cinder’s tone went abruptly flat, and the absence of her usual vibrant timbre made Alyssa realise how expressive Cinder’s voice truly was. “But now that you mention it, yes.”

Before Alyssa could ask what she meant, the music changed into the melody for a farandole, and Alyssa inwardly cursed the lost chance. There was no way she’d be able to talk to Cinder during the circular group dance. The next few dances were all group dances, or dances that involved exchanging partners, and Alyssa found herself longing for a waltz or even a quadrille. While she managed to dance with or next to Cinder for the next several dances, the moment had been lost and the two only exchanged smiles and general pleasantries in the moments where they were partners. There were so few dances designed for intimacy, but Alyssa supposed that it made sense for the princess to dance with as many people as possible. _(Move on, Alyssa. A queen never plays favourites_. _)_

Finally, the orchestra played a minuet, and Alyssa made certain that she was passed back into Cinder’s arms.

“Hello again,” Alyssa said, keeping her voice low so that the other dancers couldn’t eavesdrop. She was sure that the court gossipers would love to find out who she was talking to and what she was saying.

Cinder looked relieved to be dancing with her again. “People keep trying to find out who I am,” she said.

“What did you tell them?” Alyssa asked.

“I said I was nobody important, which is true. None of them seemed to believe me, though. They kept looking at me like I was nobility or something.”

Alyssa winced. “Sorry. If you weren’t dancing with me, people would probably be taking less notice of you. Being the princess or just near the princess makes you a point of attention. It can be a bit much, so it’s alright if you want to go.”

Cinder shook her head frantically, hair flying. “No, it’s alright. I don’t mind. Well, I do mind. But it’s alright.” She grinned sheepishly at herself, then took a steadying breath and looked Alyssa in the eyes. “I want to be here.”

In return, Alyssa merely smiled. But it was a real smile, a true smile, not the fake one she used in most conversations. Cinder wanted to be here, with her, and Alyssa smiled with her mouth, with her whole face, with her entire being.

As they pivoted in a stately circle, Alyssa saw her mother staring at her from over Cinder’s shoulder. Her spirits fell. Her mother’s steely glare had obviously seen that Alyssa had been dancing with Cinder for several turns now. The queen regent would not be pleased.

Alyssa mentally prepared herself to bid Cinder goodbye and return to being a good princess, while she internally balked at having to abandon the other girl. Thankfully, she was saved from having to make any excuses to Cinder when Prince Nicholas tapped her on the back.

“May I cut in?” the prince asked politely.

“Of course,” Cinder said, dropping Alyssa’s hand. Alyssa cast her an apologetic look before Cinder melted into the masses.

Battling off a sudden feeling of wrenching loneliness, Alyssa turned back to the prince. “I trust you are enjoying your night, Your Highness.”

“It’s a good party,” he said with a rakish grin. Then, resuming his formal bearing, he inclined his head toward the tables lining the edge of the room. “Shall we talk?”

“Of course.” Alyssa followed him to a table near the wall. Less of the crowd was watching her now; they were getting caught up in the festivities as the night wore on.

Once they were settled, Prince Nicholas began, “Have you chosen a betrothed yet?” One glance at Alyssa’s face was all he needed to know that no, she hadn’t. He looked vaguely pained as he continued. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, we are both the heirs to successful kingdoms. It is therefore natural to suppose that both our kingdoms might benefit from a union between us.”

He waited for Alyssa to answer, but Alyssa was tired. She was tired to the bone of the posturing and the manoeuvring that came with navigating life at court, of doing everything that a princess was expected to do. And she was beginning to realise that there was more to life than toeing the line and doing exactly as you were told. So she sighed, and spoke plainly. Prince Nicholas’s eyes widened as Alyssa said what she really thought, for one of the first times in her life. “Look, Your Highness, I think you and I both know that that’s not what we want. I know that a marriage between us is what our parents are hoping for, but that’s not what I want. I haven’t got anything against you, I just don’t think we’d be able to make each other happy.”

“I agree,” he said, surprising Alyssa. “But what will you tell the queen regent?”

Alyssa hadn’t thought of that, and she felt a pang of worry. “I’ll work something out. Were your king and queen set on a betrothal between us?”

“They’ll get over it. I’ll figure out what to tell them,” he said nonchalantly. The smile returned to his face, and Prince Nicholas suddenly looked several years younger. Like a young man, or a boy, even. Which is what they were. “Thank you for that, Your Highness. I don’t think I’m ready to settle down yet in any case.”

His words hit Alyssa with unexpected force, and Alyssa found herself realising that she had never thought about whether she was ready to get married or not. Her mother had simply decreed that she would, and that had been that. Alyssa scanned the crowd thronging the ballroom to spot anyone she might want to spend the rest of her life with, ruling side by side. They would have to be charming, and courteous, and most of all, worthy of the burden of sovereignty. Her eyes flitted across countless vacuous nobles, then came to rest on a familiar figure. A piece of cornflower blue summer sky. Cinder.

Cinder was the only person here who Alyssa wanted to know for the rest of her life. She didn’t even know the girl’s name, but she knew Cinder better than anyone else in the gigantic ballroom. As if in a trance, Alyssa rose and began to walk toward Cinder.

“Alyssa!” she heard her mother call sharply. She turned, and waited for the queen regent to reach her. “Have you chosen yet?”

“I think so,” Alyssa said, still tracking Cinder’s movement out the corner of her eye.

“Excellent,” her mother said. “Prince Nicholas will make a wonderful match.”

Shocked out of her daze, Alyssa turned her full attention onto her mother. She opened her mouth to correct the queen regent, but her mother ignored her and started speaking again.

“I saw the two of you talking earlier. I shall have to go find him and discuss the terms of the betrothal agreement.” The queen regent had a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“No!” Alyssa burst out. At a disapproving look from her mother, _(Don’t be so loud, Alyssa. A queen never shouts.)_ she added in a calmer tone, hating the words even as she said them, “The prince hasn’t quite made up his mind yet about whether he wants to settle down or not. I need more time. Give me one more night.”

The queen regent sighed, but acquiesced. “One last night, Alyssa. I’ll take care of it. Now go dance with the prince.”

Alyssa nodded and walked away, not trusting herself to speak. She needed more time. More time to talk to Cinder, to find out what she wanted. More time to work up the courage to have an honest conversation with her mother. But right now, she had to dance and play the part.

-

A clock chimed in the distance – it was an hour to midnight. She would have to leave soon.

Emma sat the next dance out, nibbling at a plate of delicacies and nursing a drink. She wasn’t entirely sure what was in the drink, but it tasted like apple juice. Emma watched the crowd without really seeing anyone – from this distance, she couldn’t really make out anybody’s features. Her heart jumped each and every time she spotted a girl in a dark blue dress, but she could never tell if it was the princess.

Alyssa. Alyssa was every bit as stunning as Emma had remembered, and every bit as nice too. A lethal combination. She hadn’t been wearing her crown tonight, and Emma thought that she seemed more comfortable without it. More relaxed. More Alyssa, and less Her Royal Highness. She had been wearing pearls in her hair though, and paired with her dress that was so dark a blue it was nearly black, Alyssa looked like the night sky come to life, with shining stars dotted throughout her dark tresses. Emma’s mind was still reeling from the thought that a girl like Alyssa existed, let alone wanted to talk to her and dance with her.

Emma was shaken from her reverie by a familiar voice. “Milady,” Shelby said.

It felt like someone had dumped a pail of ice-cold water over her. Emma struggled to maintain her poise and not show her terror. Did Shelby know who she was? Had she come to expose Emma for the scullery maid that she was and get her expelled from the ball?

“Hello,” Emma replied cautiously, heart pounding.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” her stepsister said, and Emma relaxed. “I’m Shelby, of House Nolan. And you are?”

Emma started panicking again. She couldn’t say Emma, and she couldn’t say Cinder. Flailing about for something to say, she squeaked, “Me? I’m no one important, really.”

“Playing it that way then, my Lady?” Shelby teased. Emma’s skin prickled. Shelby was being almost nice, and Emma didn’t trust it for one second. “Very well then, stay mysterious. My sister Kaylee and I will find out who you are, though.”

Emma managed a nervous laugh, and finished the rest of her drink.

“Apple juice?” Shelby frowned prettily. “There are better things to drink here than apple juice, milady.”

Emma laughed nervously again. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I don’t drink. On account of my nerves, you understand.” Why had she said that? Where was that coming from?

Shelby smiled charmingly at Emma. Perhaps she thought Emma was a powerful duchess and would grant her social favour. That would explain why Shelby was being so friendly.

“Come on, milady, you don’t want to miss all the fun. Join me and my sister in dancing!” Shelby pulled Emma to her feet and dragged her onto the dance floor, giving her no say in the matter.

Kaylee appeared utterly absorbed in the young lord she was dancing with, but looked up for long enough to say, “I love your dress, it really suits you.”

The irony wasn’t lost on Emma, who said nothing in reply. Kaylee had already turned back to dancing – indecently closely – with the man, and Shelby had already begun ignoring Emma in favour of a handsome young noble.

Emma turned to dance with someone else, and was soon caught up in a rush of graceful bodies. Dancing in the arms of someone who introduced himself as the Duke of Westmore, Emma felt eyes on her back. She glanced over and saw a girl in a midnight blue dress, a girl with burnished brown hair watching her from where she was dancing with another man. Emma narrowed her eyes to focus them, and her gaze locked on to eyes like mesmerising pools of liquid ink, the only facial feature she could make out at this distance. The dance swung them several yards closer together, and Emma could then be sure that it was Alyssa.  

They danced with their respective partners for the next few stanzas of the minuet, not breaking eye contact until the movement of the dance carried them to face the other way. The next few steps swung them back around again, and Emma was somehow intensely aware Alyssa’s exact position in the room, despite not being able to see her. Emma looked up, gaze travelling over Alyssa’s face to meet her eyes once when the princess glanced back her way. Something passed between them in that look, something magnetic. Something that told them both how they each wished the men they were dancing with could be exchanged for one another.

The song ended, and Emma followed the invisible thread tied between them, slipping past lords and ladies to come stand before Alyssa, who took her hands and lead her smoothly into the next dance. A waltz.

They danced in silence for a little bit, before Alyssa said, “So are Barry and Betsy the godmother and grandmother you mentioned last night, then? The ones who got you the dress.”

“That’s right.” Emma couldn’t believe that Alyssa had remembered that.

“Did they get this dress for you as well?”

“Yes.” Emma smiled at the memory. “I didn’t have a dress for tonight, so I wasn’t going to come. But Betsy wouldn’t let me give up that easily, so she told me to ask for Barry’s help. He came out of nowhere, and let me wear this.”

“Well, your godmother clearly has excellent taste. Next time you see him, send him my regards,” Alyssa said.

Emma frowned slightly. “I don’t know if I will see him again, but if I do I’ll definitely tell him you said hello. Barry would love that.”

“It seems like I have both your grandmother and godmother to thank for you being here tonight,” Alyssa said thoughtfully.

“That’s true. Without them, I’d be sitting at home alone. I don’t deserve them.”

“Don’t say that!” Alyssa’s grip on her hand tightened, and her voice was fierce. “You deserve so much more than you think you do, Cinder. I wish you could see that.”

Emma looked at Alyssa, startled by her passion. Alyssa genuinely seemed to care. And if Alyssa cared, and Betsy cared, and Barry cared too, then maybe Emma wasn’t so alone after all. Maybe she was deserving of a little love, after all.

She let the silence grow between them. It was a comfortable thing, unbroken by their movement as they danced in each other’s arms. It let her admire the smooth drape of Alyssa’s midnight blue gown and the way it lay against her skin. It let her enjoy the warmth emanating from Alyssa’s hand on her waist. It let her bask in the faint smell of roses wafting from Alyssa’s hair, and sink into the sense of closeness that was blooming between them.

Eventually, Emma’s curiosity took charge. “Were you watching me earlier?” Emma asked, slightly startled by her own boldness.

After a beat, Alyssa said, “I couldn’t look away. I can’t take my eyes off you. You are even more beautiful tonight than you were last night, and I am amazed that that is even possible.”

All of Emma’s witty retorts dried up on the tip of her tongue and she instead came out with a plaintive question. “Why are you always so eloquent?”

Alyssa laughed, and Emma’s attention was unavoidably drawn once more to the graceful lines of Alyssa’s throat and the deadly lure of her dimpled cheek. “Truthfully, I’d attribute it to diplomacy and speech-making lessons.”

Emma shook her head helplessly. “You are – Alyssa, you’re…”she trailed off, at a loss. How could she possibly articulate what she meant? There were no words to express how Alyssa made her feel, and Emma gesticulated in frustration at the other girl’s night-sky dress instead.

“Thank you?” Alyssa said in a questioning tone with another half laugh. Emma could feel the huff of Alyssa’s breath on her cheek, and she realised how dizzyingly close together they were standing. Yet she didn’t move away.

“You’re – Alyssa, I don’t even know. You’re like breathing again after the wind’s been knocked out of you, like finally having a drink of fresh water on a hot summer’s day. You…“ Emma broke off again, shaking her head.

She felt the cool touch of Alyssa’s fingers on her wrist and shivered as Alyssa offered her a quiet smile. “I know. Meeting you is like finding someone I needed but never knew I was missing.”

Emma nodded dumbly, her heart pounding. Alyssa understood. Alyssa felt it too. How could Alyssa possibly feel that? Alyssa was a princess, and Emma was nothing. Surely she was joking, poking fun at Emma, seeing how far she could take it before Emma realised that it was all a charade. But Emma couldn’t see a trace of dishonesty anywhere in Alyssa’s eyes, and when she searched Alyssa’s face for it, she ended up drowning, drowning in the beauty of Alyssa’s face.

Alyssa stopped talking too, and they just stared into each other’s eyes. Emma couldn’t hear the music any more, or any of the people around them. The world fell away until it was just the two of them, and all Emma was aware of was her pounding heartbeat, her ragged breathing, and Alyssa, Alyssa, Alyssa.

The distant clock struck again, jolting Emma back.

Something darted across Alyssa’s face but was gone before Emma could register it.

Suddenly, Emma was overwhelmingly aware of the bodies and conversations around them, jostling and murmuring and all too near. Her breath stuttered and she felt a flash of panic.

“I should go,” she said.

“Stay,” Alyssa said. “Finish this dance with me.”

Alyssa’s face was utterly torn, beautiful and sad and absolutely devastating. Emma couldn’t help but raise their entwined hands to her face and kiss Alyssa’s hands gently, hoping to communicate everything left unsaid. Then she dropped Alyssa’s hands, and fled the ballroom, fled the palace, and fled that heart-stopping moment.

 

* * *

 

Emma would have slept late the next morning, worn out from the dancing, but was woken by her stepmother shaking her in the early hours of the morning.

“Up. Now.” Her stepmother’s tone brooked no resistance, so Emma stumbled upright, wiping at her bleary eyes.

Briskly, her stepmother continued speaking while washing her hands at the sink, wiping off ashy residue from touching Emma. “Big day today for my girls. The princess has announced one last night of festivities, and they must look absolutely perfect to make an advantageous match.”

Emma was startled wide awake. Her heart rose into her throat and sunk to her bare feet at the same time, a tumultuous rush of emotion that felt like strangling. She would get to see Alyssa again, but she was sure that it would be for the last time. It was a crushing mix of joy and sorrow.

“Are you listening, Cinderemma?” chastised her stepmother. “Get breakfast ready, then go help the girls with anything they need done.”

Emma nodded silently, getting the oats out of the pantry to start the porridge cooking over the hearth. She would have to endure Kaylee and Shelby’s sniping all day, but she needn’t fear that they would discover her deception. They had approached her and talked to her last night, and she was clearly unrecognisable to them.

Betsy walked into the kitchen, and Emma handed her a steaming mug of tea, to which Betsy nodded her thanks. She watched Emma expectantly, saying nothing, letting the silence build until Emma finally turned around and gave her what she wanted.

“Yes, grandma, I’m going to go to the ball.” Betsy beamed widely at her, and Emma laughed. The push and pull of their relationship was a comfortable current that Emma gladly sunk into, after the ups and downs of the last few days. Even Betsy’s good-natured ribbing was something that Emma welcomed. It was familiar. It was safe.

A sudden worry struck Emma. “That is, if Barry comes to help again.”

“Oh, he will.” A devious look crossed Betsy’s face. “He’ll come through with you and this girl.”

Emma blushed. She hadn’t told Betsy anything about Alyssa, but she hadn’t needed to. One look at Emma’s face when she came wide-eyed through the door last night had told Betsy everything she needed to know. Betsy kept winking at Emma at random intervals, just to watch the colour rise to her face.

“Grandma, I don’t know if things are like that,” Emma said seriously. “I want to believe in it like you do, but it seems so impossible.” And it was. Alyssa was an impossible dream.

“Emma, you deserve this. The universe has good things in store. You’ll find a way.” Betsy’s voice was strong and sure, and it wrapped Emma up in a blanket of reassurance.

After that calm moment with her grandmother, the rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity. The dressmaker was summoned again; Kaylee and Shelby pouted and frowned over a series of cloths and cuts and frills and trimmings, over hair and makeup and shoes and jewellery; Emma fetched and carried, cooked and cleaned; Kaylee and Shelby fussed and primped. There were tears and shouting and sighing and complaints. Kaylee and Shelby each bragged that they were sure to have garnered the favour of the mysterious lady, that a certain prince had danced with them, the lords and counts and viscounts had flirted with them, that some Grand Duke was sure to offer them marriage.

Then the whirlwind passed, and Emma was left alone in the room with ribbons and scraps of silks strewn amidst used makeup brushes and lone shoes. The sun was just starting to set, casting a golden miasma over the room. Emma hummed as she went about her work. She didn’t mind cleaning as long as no one else was around to harass her. It could be soothing at times – keeping her hands busy while giving her mind time to think.

Invariably, her thoughts were drawn back to Alyssa. Where previously she had been filled a thousand conflicting emotions about the princess, Emma was now filled with a resolute calm. She would go to the ball. She would talk to Alyssa. And whatever happened, would happen.

As if in response to Emma’s resolve, a clear note rung through the room. Shimmering silver specks of light scattered around the room, brushing playfully across Emma’s fingers and face before coalescing into the figure of her fairy godmother. Several sparks remained in the room, flashing in the golden afternoon light every time Barry moved and gathering near his head and wings.

“Barry!” Emma grinned. This time, Barry was wearing a plaid shirt unbuttoned over a yellow shirt with ‘we’re all lesbians’ emblazoned on it in bold black text. Emma wasn’t even going to pretend she understood what it meant.

“Emma!” Barry flew over and greeted her with kisses on both cheeks, before backing away and twirling for her to admire him. “What do you think of the outfit?”

“It hurts my eyes,” Betsy said, entering the room. The bell tone had rung throughout the house and summoned her from her attic room.

“But in a good way, right?” Barry twirled once more.

Betsy made a noncommittal humming noise and Barry pretended to look crushed. Emma stifled a giggle behind her hand. Barry’s attention snapped onto her, and he inspected her face closely.

“You look happy,” he proclaimed. “This girl must be good for you. Now, let’s see. One last night at the ball. One more chance to get the girl.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at Emma and even though Emma knew he was only teasing, she felt herself blushing again.

“What should we go with?” Barry pulled his long silver wand out of thin air and brandished it at her. “A little black dress? A daring scarlet number? Ooh, how about a dress with silver stars? You can borrow some of my sparkles.” As he said that, several of the sparks fluttering around his wings darted over to rest in Emma’s hair.

“Actually, Barry,” Emma started, pulling words out of a deep well she didn’t know was within her. “All the dresses you’ve given me have been amazing, but they’re not really _me_ , if you know what I mean. Sorry, I don’t mean to insult your generosity at all.”

Barry stared at her, whether in amazement or horror, Emma couldn’t tell. When he spoke, his voice was filled with pride. “Don’t you apologise, honey. You gotta let out that assertiveness! Be confident, Emma!”

He surveyed Emma intently, murmuring incomprehensibly under his breath, “Not very you, hmm. Think, Barry, think. The short hair, the clear disregard for personal appearance. Maybe… something more butch, yes.”

Suddenly, Barry looked up, face lighting up with an idea. He looked to Betsy, who somehow read exactly what he was thinking from that look and who nodded firmly.

“Well, Emma, I think I know exactly what you mean,” Barry announced. Emma cast Betsy a plaintive look, but Betsy only smiled smugly at her. Barry tapped Emma on the forehead with the silvery star tipping his wand, and she felt the change melt over her from head to toe.

Barry summoned a mirror, and pushed Emma forward to take a look in it. “Let me know what you think, honey. Is there anything you want me to change?”

A slow, wide smile blossomed across Emma’s face. “It’s perfect.”

And it was. Looking in the mirror, Emma saw herself wearing a smartly tailored tuxedo. It was so dark a blue as to be nearly black, only revealing its blue tints where the light glinted against the fabric. The velvet jacket was exquisitely soft to the touch, the shirt a crisp white with dark piping along the collar, and the tie embroidered with crimson and purple flowers. On her feet were boots of supple leather, much more comfortable than the dainty shoes she had worn the last night.

Betsy clapped. “Emma, you look so handsome!”

“It’s crucial that we get your outfit right,” Barry said nervously, peering at Emma’s reflection from over her shoulder. “The right clothes can completely change a person.”

He was right. In this tuxedo – so different from the dresses – Emma felt something within her click into place. Her reflection stood straighter, smiled brighter, looked happier. Emma planted her feet firmly on the ground, feeling solid and rooted for the first time in years. She almost felt powerful.

“Really, Barry,” Emma said, joy making her voice soar. “It’s perfect. Wearing this, I feel like I could walk straight across the ballroom, right to her, and ask her to dance.”

On impulse, Emma flung her arms around Barry’s waist. It was the only part of him she could really reach, what with him hovering several feet above the ground. After a startled moment, Barry hugged her in return, blinking back tears. Sounding slightly choked, Barry spoke into the air behind Emma’s head. “Darling, you absolutely have to do exactly that tonight. You have to walk up to her and ask her to dance. You have to carpe the diem.”

Once again, Emma completely ignored the nonsense words that Barry was spouting. Instead, she frowned, stepping back from the hug. “I can’t do that, Barry.”

“Pish. Why ever not?”

“There’s no way I’d be able to find her in that crowd. You should see it – the whole ballroom, filled with people. I just have to wait until we encounter each other.”

Ever practical, Betsy chimed in, “Just find a vantage point and look for her.”

Emma sighed. “Grandma, the ballroom is gigantic. I can’t tell who anyone is from that distance, not unless I know what they’re wearing. And I won’t know what she’s wearing until I get there.”

“Emma,” Barry said slowly, with the tone of someone solving a complex problem, “are you short-sighted?”

Bemused, Emma asked, “What’s being short-sighted?”

“It’s when you can’t see faraway objects clearly,” Barry explained. “What, do you not have optometrists here?”

At the unfamiliar word, both Emma and Betsy stared at him blankly.

“Clearly not,” Barry said to himself. He then waved his wand in intricate patterns directly in front of Emma’s eyes, making her lean backwards and away. “Let’s see… yes… definitely short-sighted. Well, that’s a quick fix.”

He pulled a strange contraption out of thin air. It was a pair of glass lenses set into a thin frame. Barry presented them to Emma with a flourish. “Here you are!”

Awkwardly, Emma took them. She held them and look at them a moment, before asking, “So what do I do with them?”

“Put them on! On your face! Over your eyes!”

Barry appeared to be losing his patience, and Emma quickly did as instructed. The arms of the frame rested on her ears and across the bridge of her nose, and the lenses positioned themselves over her eyes. Immediately, the world came into focus.

Barry smiled in satisfaction. “Go take a look out the window,” he suggested.

Doing as he said, Emma let out a small gasp of shock. She could see _everything_. She could see the individual leaves on the trees, she could see the thatching of the houses in the neighbourhood, she could see a flock of swallows gliding across the sunset sky, she could see the crisp edges of the clouds instead of them blurring indistinctly into sky. Emma stared at everything in wonder, trying to absorb as much of it as she could.

“Is this how people normally see the world?”

Barry nodded, pleased at her obvious happiness. Betsy beamed at her. “You look rather dashing, dear,” she said.

Emma looked at her reflection once more. Her perpetual slight squint had disappeared, and she now saw herself with a clear, confident gaze. She was ready.

“Will these be gone at midnight, too?” Emma asked, taking the lenses off and holding them in her hands. The world faded back to its usual dull self, and Emma’s spirits fell. It would be hard to go back to normal, now that she knew what having good eyesight was like. She would have liked to see what the world looked like from atop her hill. She would have liked to see all the beautiful views the world had to offer. She would have liked to see how Alyssa looked, walking across a room full of people toward her. She supposed she would manage without – she’d managed thus far, after all.

“Consider them a permanent gift,” Barry said magnanimously.

“Can you do that?” Betsy asked, keen to know if Emma would be able to keep all her other accoutrements as well.

“Well, I’m not technically supposed to, but I won’t tell if you don’t.” Barry winked.

“Thank you, Barry,” Emma said. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart, truly. It means so much that you’ve done all this for me.”

“Oh, stop.” Barry’s voice wavered. “You’ll make me cry, and my makeup will run.”

The three of them all laughed, sharing a moment of warm camaraderie.

“I suppose this is goodbye,” Barry said tremulously.

“Won’t I see you again?” Emma asked.

Barry shook his head. “I’ve bent the rules far enough as it is, honey. Visiting a fairy goddaughter three times? Well, you need special dispensation. I have friends in high places, but they won’t let me come back another time.”

Emma and Betsy both embraced him. When they finally let him go, Barry wiped at his cheeks with a handkerchief, futilely blinking back tears.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. Any more hugs and I won’t make it. Come on, Emma, go get the girl.”

They walked out to the front of the house, where a horse and carriage was again waiting. Emma hugged her grandmother, then hugged Barry again, thanking him profusely. Before she got in the carriage, Barry said, “Now keep in mind that the enchantment will end at midnight. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you more time.” Emma nodded.

Barry’s voice grew soft. “I hope everything goes well, Emma. Remember, tonight belongs to you. Not anyone else. Tonight belongs to you and your girl.”

Emma started tearing up at that, and, not trusting herself to speak, squeezed Barry into a final hug that she hoped would communicate everything to him.

As she left, Emma saw Betsy turn earnestly to Barry and start talking to him, no doubt thanking him for his time in being her partner in teasing Emma.

 

* * *

 

In one of the quiet smaller wings of the palace, Alyssa knocked on a mahogany door. “Hawkins?”

“Enter,” his deep voice replied from inside. “Come to hand in your geography homework?”

Alyssa pushed the door open and entered, seeing her tutor sitting in his armchair by the fireplace with a book in hand. She approached him, the clicking of her heels muffled by the Persian carpets covering his floor. “Hawkins, you know that’s not due for another week.”

He chuckled. “Yes, but knowing you, you would be submitting it around a week early.”

Alyssa settled herself in the armchair next to him, tucking the folds of her voluminous skirt neatly in beside her. The ball would begin soon, and Alyssa had already dressed accordingly. _(Are you ready, Alyssa? A queen is always prepared.)_ Dropping her teasing tone, she said more seriously, “I know. I’ve been a little preoccupied of late.”

“I can understand why,” Hawkins said respectfully. “You look beautiful tonight, Your Highness.”

“Now what have I told you about calling me that in private?” she chided good-naturedly.

Hawkins marked his page and set the book aside, giving Alyssa a fond smile. “Sorry, Alyssa.”

Hawkins had watched Alyssa grow up, instructing her in subjects ranging from botany to history to etiquette, and she wouldn’t let him call her ‘Your Highness’ when she could get away with it. It was too formal, and though her mother would disapprove, Alyssa asked Hawkins to just call her by her own name when the queen regent wasn’t around. _(Don’t be so informal, Alyssa. A queen is regal, elegant. She has dignity as befits her status.)_

“Not going to the ball tonight?” Alyssa asked, seeing his casual attire.

Hawkins spread his hands out before him in a gesture of resignation. “The queen regent has requested that we all attend, so I will be there. I don’t get ready as early as you, however, which explains why you look much more dazzling than I.”

“Thank you,” Alyssa said, resisting the urge to shrug off the compliment and accepting it as her queenly due instead. _(Don’t squirm so, Alyssa. A queen should expect compliments, and accept them with unruffled poise.)_

“Have you chosen your betrothed?” Hawkins asked, repeating the question the whole palace – nay, the whole kingdom – had been asking Alyssa of late.

Alyssa grimaced. “About that – I actually had a question for you.”

“I’m here to help,” Hawkins steepled his fingers together, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. “What is it?”

“Are there any laws dictating marriages and betrothals?” Alyssa shifted in her seat, heart beginning to beat faster in anticipation. An idea had been forming in her head all day – a shapeless, amorphous dream that was more of a fanciful wish than an idea, but she could feel it was beginning to crystallise and grow clearer at the edges. All she needed was confirmation from the most knowledgeable person she knew: her tutor.

Hawkins frowned over his hands, tapping his fingers against one another. “How so? Laws regarding what, in particular?”

In spite of her uncharacteristic anxiety, Alyssa kept her composure and her casual tone. “Laws regarding whom one can marry. Am I free to choose whoever I wish? For example, a commoner, or would they have to be a noble?” She nearly stumbled over her last question, unsure whether to say ‘she’ or ‘he’, and hastily substituting ‘they’ instead. She hoped Hawkins wouldn’t notice.

If he did, he didn’t say anything. Thoughtfully, he said, “It is customary for those in the royal family to marry according to their station. Most princes and princesses would marry into other royal families, or otherwise the nobility. Marriage or betrothal to commoners is rare, but not unheard of, and while there are customs, there are no laws per se. So long as you are both of age, and willingly consent, there is no legal reason as to why you should not betroth yourself to whomsoever you desire.”

Whomsoever you desire. That answered part of Alyssa’s question, but there still remained one issue to be tackled. Alyssa swallowed hard, her mouth inexplicably dry. But she had to ask. “Even if it was a girl?”

For a second, Hawkins didn’t answer, and Alyssa felt her nervousness begin to swerve over the edge into panic. Then he spoke, and Alyssa realised he’d merely been taking the moment to consider his answer. “Again, Alyssa, it is unorthodox, but there should be no legal case against it. Your mother may have something to say about it, however. There is the matter of continuing the bloodline and producing an heir.”

Troubled, Alyssa sank bank into the chair and said, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

In response to her darkened expression, Hawkins leaned forward and placed his hand on her arm. “There are other options. Adoption, or taking in a ward. It has been done before. But there will be resistance from the court, and, I fear, from your mother as well.”

The knowledge that it was possible buoyed Alyssa’s spirits. She couldn’t hold back the grin imposing itself on her face. She knew what to do now. “Don’t worry, Hawkins, I’ll find a way to deal with my mother. I’m coming of age, and she won’t be able to control me then. Isn’t that what this whole ball rigmarole is about?”

Hawkins stared at her, eyes hinting at a mixture of dubiousness and pride. “Princess, if whoever you’re talking about is the one that’s putting that smile on your face, I’ll back you against the queen regent, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” Alyssa said again. “I really appreciate that.” When he called her Princess, the word sounded less like an honorific and more like an affectionate nickname. His sudden warmth was surprising, but not entirely unexpected. Hawkins had practically raised her after her father had vanished, and while they maintained a respectful mentor-student relationship, they were in actuality quite close. Alyssa valued Hawkins’ excellent advice, and she was an attentive if sometimes reluctant pupil.

Nonetheless, she was pleased and taken aback by his promise. She hadn’t expected to receive help or support in the unorthodox choices she was about to make, but Hawkins’s aid made her feel safer and surer.

Hawkins nodded solemnly, and they turned to discuss lighter matters, fire crackling in the background.

 

* * *

 

Emma’s nerves were afire once more, and she focused on her breathing to steady herself. By the time her carriage arrived outside the palace doors, she had returned to that lucid state of calm. With her tuxedo and glasses, she felt like a new woman.

She strode toward the castle doors – they were over twice her height, pearlescent and inlaid with gold, flashing brilliantly in the dying light – and two pages swung the door open to let her enter. At the top of the stair leading into the ballroom, Emma paused, and shooed away the herald while searching the crowd for Alyssa’s face. The glasses Barry had given her were truly amazing: Emma could see each individual person thronging the room, but she had eyes only for one.

Alyssa stood in conversation with several nobles, and Emma took a moment to hungrily take her in. She was wearing a gown of royal purple, and she looked like a painting come to life. The bodice of the gown was simple, with a shallow neckline and short half-sleeves, but the skirt of the dress was a work of art. It gathered below Alyssa’s waist in ruffles of fabric, dotted here and there with blossoms in a thousand warm colours ranging from cherry to plum to lavender to rose. Alyssa laughed at something one of the nobles said, but Emma instinctively realised that it wasn’t Alyssa’s genuine laugh. Nevertheless, she was beautiful.

Emma pushed through the crowd, barely heeding the people around her.

She walked past Kaylee and Shelby, hearing a snatch of their conversation. “Shelbs, I haven’t seen the mysterious lady yet, have you?”

“Maybe she’s not coming. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to us!”

“No, surely not. Did you see her talk to anyone else? We’re the only friends she’s got. She’ll turn up.”

“You’re right. Anyway, what do you think of Lord Kevin?”

Emma smiled to herself as she passed them. In keeping an eye out for the mysterious lady, her stepsisters had overlooked Emma in her crisp tuxedo, and it lent her an additional boost of confidence.

As Emma drew closer to Alyssa, she saw that the ballgown was indeed covered with hundreds of real flowers, clinging to her skirts as if by magic. Tonight, Alyssa’s hair was in a braid haloing her head, studded with flower buds, so that she was wearing a circlet of living flowers instead of a crown. She looked like a fairy, or a goddess.

Ignoring the men standing to either side of the princess, Emma walked directly up to her and offered Alyssa her hand.

Quickly, before she lost her nerve, Emma said, “Alyssa. May I have this dance?”

“Cinder!” Alyssa sounded astonished. She clearly hadn’t recognised Emma, and after a moment of initial surprise, she smiled warmly at Emma and clasped Emma’s fingers in her own. “You may indeed. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Emma led Alyssa onto the dance floor, relishing the feeling of Alyssa’s hand in hers. If it were up to her, she would hold Alyssa tight and never let her go.

“You look so different,” Alyssa said. “I mean that in a good way. You look really – you’re –sorry, I’m not usually this scattered. It just – it suits you.”

“Pun intended?” Emma teased.

Alyssa looked startled and laughed a little. Emma hadn’t seen that expression cross her face before – Alyssa was usually so reserved, so in control – and she felt a warm little glow at the thought that she could be the one that made Alyssa flustered.

“No,” Alyssa managed. “Not intentional, but for the sake of posterity, we could pretend that it was? Otherwise my image as an eloquent princess will be ruined.”

Emma grinned at her wickedly. “Not a chance. It’ll give the rest of us a chance to catch up.”

Alyssa smiled – her real smile, the one that revealed the dimple on her cheek. Despite their dark shade, her eyes were bright, and Emma found that when she looked into them, she didn’t need to say anything at all.

“Well, I suppose what I mean is, the tuxedo seems right. And the glasses, too. You look so much more yourself tonight, like I’m getting a chance to look at who Cinder really is, when she isn’t wearing a fancy dress.”

Emma felt a pang of guilt mixed with gladness. Hearing Alyssa call her Cinder brought all her regrets at being unable to tell Alyssa who she really was to the surface, but simultaneously she was pleased that Alyssa approved of her new look.

The band struck up a waltz and Emma swept Alyssa into her arms.

“You’re leading now?” Alyssa arched an eyebrow, and Emma felt herself beginning to blush again. “That suit’s really done wonders for your confidence. Another one of Betsy and Barry’s works?”

“Yes,” Emma replied. Previously, Alyssa had always preserved a strict formal distance between them as they were dancing, which Emma had maintained despite aching to be closer to Alyssa. But tonight, Alyssa stood much closer to Emma as they danced. So much closer that they were nearly dancing cheek to dimpled cheek, and Emma was beginning to struggle to string coherent thoughts together.

“I’d love to meet them someday,” Alyssa continued. Emma’s heart immediately started racing. Alyssa wanted to meet Barry and Betsy. What could that mean? Did Alyssa want to get to know Emma more – spend time with her after the ball? But Emma could never let Alyssa come to her house.

However unlikely it was, Emma found herself going along with it, unable to relinquish the possibility of more days, more nights, spent with Alyssa. “They would love you,” she said.

“Do you really think so?” Alyssa looked pleased.

“How could they not?” Emma blushed harder the moment she realised what she’d implied. “You’re – you’re beautiful and funny and intelligent and kind and, well, perfect.”

Alyssa shook her head as Emma spun her out, under their arms, and back.

“At any rate,” Emma said, “are you sure you want to meet Barry? He’s a little odd. Well, very odd. Extremely odd.”

“He sounds delightful.”

Emma imagined how it would feel to sit at the kitchen table with Barry, Betsy, and Alyssa. She could already hear Barry and Betsy’s incessant teasing, but it would feel entirely comfortable and right. Then she remembered that Barry was gone.

“You might get to meet Betsy someday, but Barry’s gone.” Emma heard her own voice turn melancholy.

“What do you mean, gone?”

Even though it was going to make her sound crazy, Emma found herself telling Alyssa the whole story of how she’d met Barry.

“Did I tell you that Barry’s my fairy godmother?”

Alyssa nodded, but kept quiet so that Emma could keep talking.

“Well, he really is. He’s got glowing blue wings and a magic wand and everything. He appeared out of thin air to help me dress for the ball the night before last, and he’s helped me these past two times as well, but tonight was the last time he could appear to me. So, he’s gone.” Emma blinked away the tears that had welled up in her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Alyssa asked, concerned.

Emma nodded and laughed weakly. “Yes. I didn’t think I’d grow so attached to him after just meeting him three times.”

Quietly, Alyssa said, “I didn’t think I’d grow so attached to you after just meeting you once.”

Emma couldn’t quite believe that Alyssa had said what Alyssa had just said. “Me either.”

Then they danced in silence, Emma unable to meet Alyssa’s eyes after an initial glance showed her the sincerity shining out their dark depths. Their graceful movements as they twirled through the elegant steps of the waltz slowed and came to a gradual halt as the music faded away. Emma and Alyssa stood locked in that moment before Alyssa said, “I need a drink.”

“Can I get you something?” Emma offered, remembering her manners.

“No, come with me.” Alyssa tugged Emma over to the banquet table by the arm, where she filled a glass with a sparkling pink liquid. She tilted the decanter over another glass and looked at Emma expectantly.

“What is it?” Emma asked warily.

“Punch.” Alyssa said. Then, as if reading Emma’s mind, she added, “There aren’t any spirits in it, don’t worry.”

At that, Emma nodded in acquiescence. As Alyssa poured some punch into a glass for her, Emma asked, “So do you believe me? That Barry really was my fairy godmother?”

Alyssa looked up, and put the crystal decanter down. “Yes, I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Doesn’t it sound a little far-fetched?” Emma took a sip of the punch, and let her eyes drift over the buffet, assessing the different foods arrayed over the table.

“I suppose so,” Alyssa said, “but I’ve always wanted to believe in magic. And you’ve got no reason to make anything up or lie to me.”

“But I have lied to you.” Emma’s guilty feelings came bursting out. “I lied to you about my name, and I’m so sorry. I wish I could tell you who I am, but I’m scared.”

“You didn’t really lie,” Alyssa pointed out. “You told me that Cinder isn’t your real name, and that you couldn’t tell me your name.”

Emma couldn’t fault that logic. “You’re right. Why are you always right?” she asked, half-plaintive, half-joking.

“The country can’t have a queen who isn’t always right, now can it?” Alyssa shrugged. Then, noticing Emma eyeing the platters of food, Alyssa picked up a diamond-shaped pastry and offered it to Emma. “Try this. It’s one of my favourite desserts.”

The morsel was held out between them like a peace offering. Alyssa brought it to Emma’s lips, clearly indicating for Emma to eat it. Emma tentatively took a bite, lips brushing Alyssa’s fingertips as she did so, and when she pulled away Emma thought she saw a faint ruddy tint to Alyssa’s brown cheeks, matching Emma’s pink blush.

True to Alyssa’s word, the sweet was delicious – rich and honeyed, it was dotted with pistachios and tasted like roses. Emma’s enjoyment must have shown on her face, because Alyssa began to stack the sweets onto a small porcelain plate.

Without thinking, Emma said, “It tastes like how you smell.” Then, realising what she’d said, Emma covered her mouth in horror while Alyssa laughed helplessly. “That is – it tastes like roses, and you smell like roses, so that’s why – I need to stop talking.”

“No, you’re right,” Alyssa said, still laughing so hard that she snorted. If Emma hadn’t been so embarrassed, she would have found the little snort endearing. “Those have got rosewater in them, so they do taste like roses, and my perfume has rose oil in it.”

Emma was mortified. Her face felt like it was on fire, and she choked out apologies between heaving breaths. “I can’t believe I said that. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Alyssa. I’m so sorry.”

Emma fanned ineffectually at her burning face with both hands. The room suddenly felt too hot, and Emma pulled at her collar in an attempt to release some of the heat that felt trapped under her shirt.

“Are you alright?” Alyssa was beginning to look concerned. “Do you need to get some air?”

“I’m fine,” Emma said, but allowed Alyssa to escort her through a small corridor to an unguarded side door, still spluttering and spouting half-coherent apologies. The fresh air as they exited was a huge relief on Emma’s warm face, and Emma gulped down the cool air as her breathing and heart rate returned to normal.

“Sorry,” Emma said when she felt steadier. “I think I’ve absolutely embarrassed myself.”

Emma was looking off into the distant sprawl of the palace ground in the half-light, but felt Alyssa’s gaze prickling against her cheek as Alyssa spoke, “It’s more than alright. I haven’t laughed that hard for years, so thank you.”

“It wasn’t meant to be a joke,” Emma complained. “It was a compliment. I think.”

Alyssa stifled another giggle. “I’m honoured that I smell as good as those desserts taste, then.”

She nudged Emma’s shoulder with her own, and Emma relented and huffed out a laugh. “I suppose it was a bit funny.”

The two girls stood side by side on the doorsteps for a moment, staring out as the evening star rose in the indigo sky, and others stars slowly twinkled into existence beside it. A cool breeze wafted the scent of wet dew and flowers to them. The flowerbeds of the palace grounds were illuminated by countless lanterns and torches to breathtaking effect. The bells in the clock tower rung out eleven times, and Emma felt her mood darken along with the evening sky. Time was running out.

“Are you feeling better now?” Alyssa asked, scrutinising Emma’s face.

“Yes. Do you want to go back inside?” Emma asked, reluctant to relinquish the quietude and Alyssa’s company, but knowing that Alyssa probably should return to the celebration.

Alyssa surprised Emma with an emphatic, “No.” Then Alyssa motioned toward the palace gardens with a broad sweep of her arm. “Would you like to go for a stroll with me?”

Emma was eager to seize the chance to be alone with Alyssa. “That sounds divine.” Alyssa immediately set off, skirts rustling, and Emma hurried a few paces to fall into step by her side. “Where are we going?”

“The palace grounds are quite extensive,” Alyssa said by way of reply. “Is there anything you wanted to see?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said, and cast a sidelong glance at Alyssa, as she’d been doing all night. Too shy to look directly at Alyssa but unable to resist, Emma instead settled for quick peeks at the other girl. Her eyes fell on the delicate buds braided into Alyssa’s hair, and she noticed that Alyssa’s usual floral scent seemed to be augmented by the fragrance emanating from the petals decorating Alyssa’s gown and hair. Her curiosity piqued, Emma asked, “Are those flowers real?”

“On my dress?” They crossed a long manicured meadow lit by torches, the flames of which cast Alyssa’s features into dramatic shadows and danced in her dark eyes. “Yes, they’re real. They were pressed and hand-sewn. We grow the flowers ourselves, in the garden and the hothouses.”

“The hothouses?” Emma hadn’t heard the term before.

“Hothouses?” Alyssa furrowed her brows as she sought for a definition. Emma was charmed by the expression. Emma was charmed by all the expressions that wove across Alyssa’s animated face. “I’m not sure how to describe them. They’re a sort of glass house that we grow plants in – we can keep them heated and grow flowers out of season and such. They’re not far from here; I’ll show you.”

A few short minutes later, Alyssa led Emma through the door of a tall structure. As she’d said, the hothouse was a glass building, and Emma had never seen its like before. The atmosphere inside the hothouse smelt of rich earth and of growing things, and it was considerably warmer inside. Everywhere Emma looked, a profusion of blooms grew in a riot of colours, white and blue and pink and yellow, flowers with petals the size of dinner plates growing next to blossoms smaller than her littlest fingernail.

Emma stared all around her in wonder, drinking it in. “It’s wonderful,” she breathed.

“Walk around,” Alyssa invited her. “Take it all in.”

The plants were growing in aisles, and Emma walked up and down them, trailing her fingertips over leaves and flowers and vines. There were countless types of flowers here that Emma had never seen before in her life, and as she reached each one of them and looked to Alyssa inquisitively, Alyssa patiently named each of them for her.

A row of small potted plants, with unconventionally shaped and oddly fleshy petals in purples, pinks, and whites. “Orchids.”

Clusters of star-shaped flowers, frilled with multi-coloured edges. “Saintpaulia.”

Bushes adorned with scarlet blossoms the size of Emma’s hand. “Hibiscus.”

A pure-white flower sprouting from a single stalk. “Amazon lily.”

An aisle overshadowed by mountains of papery, bell-shaped blooms in vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows. “Bougainvillea.”

A vine covered in dark, waxy leaves and small white flowers. “Jasmine. Smell it.”

At an approving nod from Alyssa, Emma raised an offshoot of the jasmine vine to her face and sniffed tentatively. They smelled fresh and delicate, in a way that was more subtle and yet more intense than the rich scent of a rose. Emma held the sprig to her face for a moment longer, enjoying the sweet smell.

Alyssa reached past her and pulled off a segment of the vine.

“Can you do that?” Emma asked in shock, expecting a gardener to round the corner and tell them off at any minute.

Alyssa merely shrugged and smiled brightly at Emma, hands busily forming a circle with the jasmine vine as she twisted the vine around itself and tucked the ends in. “Here,” she said, stepping forward so she stood just in front of Emma and placing the circlet gently on Emma’s head, resting it in her wavy hair. “Now we match.”

As the fragrance of the little blossoms drifted down to veil Emma’s face, so Alyssa’s hands drifted from the crown of Emma’s head to trail down Emma’s cheeks and fall to rest on her shoulders. Emma drew in an abrupt breath, suddenly supremely conscious of the skirts of Alyssa’s dress brushing against her books and her own arms, hanging limply at her sides. The scent of the jasmine mixed with Alyssa’s rose perfume to form a heady atmosphere that sent Emma’s head spinning.

Then she heard footsteps, and a deep voice called, “Hello? Is someone there?”

Emma immediately sprang back, panicked. “Come on,” Alyssa hissed, grabbing Emma’s hand. She scurried down the aisle and slunk around the corner, and Emma followed her, quietly pleased that they were holding hands underneath her terror.

-

Once they’d escaped the hothouse and emerged back into crisp night air and relative safety, Cinder turned to Alyssa. “Who was that?”

“A gardener,” Alyssa said. “I think it might’ve been Peter.”

“What would have happened if he’d caught us?” Cinder asked, looking worried.

“I don’t know.” Alyssa began to laugh, thrilled by the near miss and realising that she genuinely had no clue as to what Peter would have done. “I’ve never been in trouble before.”

Cinder tossed Alyssa a startled look. “What, really? Never?”

Alyssa shook her head, dissolving into fresh giggles. “Never. This is the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done.”

In reply, Cinder gave Alyssa another shy smile, eyes wide, watching Alyssa as if she were a beautiful and mysterious mythical creature. Alyssa fought back the near-hysterical mirth still bubbling inside of her. “What do you want to see next?”

Cinder shrugged, the movement jangling her arms and reminding Alyssa that they’d yet to let go of each other’s hands. Alyssa didn’t say anything about it, hoping that if she didn’t call attention to it Cinder would keep holding her hand. “Is there anything else you want to show me?” offered Cinder.

Alyssa thought for a moment. She liked being able to share parts of the palace – parts of her life – with Cinder. Cinder looked at each of them with those solemn eyes of hers, and Alyssa got the impression that she was absorbing it all.  Alyssa fell upon a thought that struck a long-buried chord of excitement within her. “How do you feel about hedge mazes?”

“I’m not sure,” Cinder replied cautiously. “I’ve never been in one before.”

“Our maze isn’t too big or confusing. I used to play in there a lot when I was growing up. If baby me can do it, then so can you,” Alyssa teased, heading toward the maze.

“I resent that,” Cinder said, but her tone was smooth and placid.

Their clasped hands hung between them as they walked, and Alyssa slowly interlaced her fingers with Cinder’s, watching her reaction out of the corner of her eyes. When Cinder didn’t pull away, Alyssa smiled to herself.

The tall privet walls of the maze loomed up before them, and Alyssa felt a familiar thrum of anticipation thrill through her bones. The yawning entrance looked more intimidating in the dark, the flickering torchlight sending shadows lurking around the edges of the hedges. “I’ll race you to the middle,” Alyssa suggested, heart quickening.

“Not fair,” Cinder complained. “You grew up with it.”

“It’s been years since I explored it last, and there are several possible routes,” Alyssa pointed out. “Are you going to lose to my hazy childhood memory?”

Cinder gave Alyssa a determined look. “First to the centre,” she said, tearing her hand out of Alyssa’s and sprinting toward the entrance.

Alyssa stood dumbstruck for a second, caught off guard by the sudden emergence of Cinder’s competitive spirit. Then she gathered up her skirts and set off after Cinder, cursing her delicate gown and dainty slippers as she ran.

Cinder was already out of sight when Alyssa reached the first crossroads, and Alyssa darted left, wracking her brain in an attempt to dredge up the memory of warm summer afternoons spending wandering through the maze. Alyssa had spent hours in the maze growing up, and she relied on muscle memory and instinct to guide her through.

Following a particularly windy path, she came face to face with a dead end. Alyssa frowned. Either the darkness had confused her, or her memory wasn’t as good as she’d expected, because Alyssa was completely lost. She started retracing her steps when she noticed a mischievous-looking garden gnome set into one of the hedge walls. A sudden flash of insight struck her. Of course! The garden gnomes had been scattered throughout segments of the mazes – just as a quirky idea of her father’s – and seeing it told Alyssa exactly where she was.

“Hello,” she said to the gnome. In the half-light, it almost looked as if it was going to respond.

“Hello?” Alyssa heard Cinder shout. “Did you say something?”

“Just talking to myself,” Alyssa called back.

“Of course,” came Cinder’s voice, in the tone that meant she was smiling. “Have you gotten to the middle yet?”

“No,” Alyssa said wryly. “I got lost.”

Cinder’s reply was triumphant, its source shifting slightly toward Alyssa’s right as Cinder moved through the maze. “Ha!”

“I’m un-lost now!” Alyssa protested, setting off in what she now knew was the correct direction. Just because she wouldn’t mind losing to Cinder didn’t mean she didn’t want to win. “I’ll still get there first.”

“We’ll see!” Cinder’s voice had moved again. “I can clearly run faster than you.”

Alyssa ducked around a corner, thinking furiously. Cinder was obviously taking a different route to Alyssa, but she couldn’t remember if it was a shorter one or not. She took the next left, then another left, and knew that the entrance to the middle would be at the end of this corridor.

“I’m nearly there!” Alyssa shouted, confident in her imminent victory.

“Oh no you don’t!” screamed Cinder from somewhere ahead of her. It sounded like Cinder was on the opposite side of the centre circle to Alyssa, near the other entrance to the middle.

Alyssa broke into a run, determined to get there first. When she reached the end of the walkway, she skidded to a halt. The hedges at the other end of the clearing were writhing back and forth, as if they were shaking off an attacker. As Alyssa watched, she saw Cinder’s head appear over the top of the dark green foliage, followed by the rest of her body as she clawed herself onto the top hedge and then flopped over to the ground on the other side.

Cinder rolled to her feet and looked straight at Alyssa whilst adjusting her crooked glasses. “Made it to the middle first,” she croaked, her face flushed with exertion.

“You have something in your hair,” Alyssa said, walking over to Cinder. She plucked a large sprig of privet out of Cinder’s hair, carefully detangling it from the jasmine circlet which had miraculously stayed on Cinder’s head. Alyssa held the twig out in front of Cinder’s face, then used her other hand to pull more privet branches out of the blond girl’s hair and from the collar of her shirt. “And something here, and here, and here.”

Their eyes met over the tops of the several sprays of privet that Alyssa was now holding, and they dissolved into laughter.

“I cannot – believe – you climbed – the hedge,” Alyssa said between bursts of laughter.

“I won, though.” Cinder held her glasses away from her face as she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes, subsiding into chuckles.

A snort escaped from Alyssa as she futilely tried to stop giggling. “I think that’s cheating.”

“No,” Cinder said, looking at Alyssa very, very sincerely. “It is absolutely not cheating, because, because you had prior knowledge of the maze and I had to blunder around it in the dark.”

Alyssa quashed another giggle. “No, climbing the hedge is most definitely cheating. I shall make it a royal decree.”

Cinder looked at Alyssa, making her eyes as wide and as petulant as she could. Alyssa felt her resolve beginning to crumble. Sensing her advantage, Cinder pressed her attack and pushed out her bottom lip in a pout.

“Fine! Fine,” Alyssa relented, smiling. “Let’s call it a tie.”

Cinder beamed, then finally looked around, absently brushing the remaining hedge-detritus from her suit jacket. Alyssa turned to survey the clearing too, pleased to see that everything was exactly as it had always been.

The neat grass lawn of the clearing was unadorned except for one plashing fountain in the centre. The hedges and fountain were festooned with jewel-like hanging lamps, and now that the two girls were no longer running around the maze, the tall hedges blocked out all sense of the outside world and emitted an aura of quiet serenity, uninterrupted by the low burbling of the water. A silence settled over them as Alyssa approached the fountain and leaned against it to stare out at the hedges surrounding them, Cinder following suit.

“It’s so peaceful here,” Cinder said softly.

Alyssa nodded, enjoying the hushed moment.

“Is this the quiet spot you come to, to get away from everyone and just think?” Cinder asked.

Alyssa was startled by the perspicacity of Cinder’s question. “How did you know I have a hidden place away from everyone else?”

She felt more than saw Cinder’s shrug in reply. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you?” Alyssa asked, intrigued and eager to find out more about the elusive girl.

“Yes,” Cinder said, and paused. She cast Alyssa a nervous sideways look, and Alyssa waited patiently. Alyssa placed her hand gently over Cinder’s where it rested on the lip of the fountain, trying to communicate that she wouldn’t ever push her, but was ready to hear whatever Cinder was willing to share.

Taking comfort from Alyssa’s touch, Cinder began again, her voice clear but melancholy. “There’s a spot on top of the hill behind my house, where my mother is buried. I planted a tree there, years ago, and under that tree is where I sit and think sometimes. It’s where I feel closest to her. And it’s where I can get away from everything else.”

Alyssa felt pleased, then abruptly felt terrible that she was glad. But she was – glad that Cinder had trusted her with that knowledge, glad that here was a shared experience that they would be able to talk about.

Not quite knowing how to respond, Alyssa started by saying, “I’m sorry about your mother. You must miss her terribly.”

“Yes and no.” Alyssa felt Cinder’s shoulders jerk up and down in a shrug. “I do miss her, but not so terribly much anymore. It was so long ago, and I’ve been getting by without her. Does that make me an awful daughter?”

“No,” Alyssa said firmly. “Because if it did, I’d be an awful daughter too.”

Cinder frowned momentarily, before her face cleared as she realised, “The king. Your father.”

“He disappeared when I was eight,” Alyssa explained. “My mother thinks he’ll come back some day, but I think everyone else knows that he’s gone for good.”

Cinder didn’t say anything in reply, but she didn’t need to. Alyssa knew that Cinder understood. It was enough for her just to listen, and to understand.

“Not knowing whether he’s alive out there is hard,” Alyssa said. “Some days I wonder why he disappeared, if he’s lost or hurt or worse, happy. Whether he’ll come back or not. But most days, I don’t really think about him, because it doesn’t lead anywhere. Look at my mother – she’s still devastated that he’s gone and furious at him for abandoning us.”

“Would you want to know if you could?” Cinder asked. “I mean, I know that my mother is dead. She’s gone, and I can never get her back, but at least I have the closure of knowing that, and a place to commemorate her.”

Alyssa had spent long hours in the past contemplating that exact question. She knew that her mother had done everything in her power to find her father and bring him back, and she also knew that if it was possible, her mother would have accomplished it. She shook her head. “I’m not sure. Knowing the truth… It wouldn’t change anything. So it doesn’t matter whether I know or not. Perhaps one day I will, and perhaps I’ll never find out, but the important thing is to move on. And I have.”

“That’s true,” Cinder said, smiling.

Alyssa smiled back, then felt her expression turn wry as she remembered her mother and said, “Mother hasn’t yet.”

“There’s nothing you can do about that but wait,” Cinder said, interlacing their fingers and making Alyssa smile again.

Alyssa looked at Cinder gratefully, and realised with a rush of wonder that she hadn’t once tonight been preoccupied with what her mother would want her to do or say. The revelation was freeing. She stood upright, turning to once again admire Cinder in her suit, the fabric of which gleamed deepest blue in the firelight. “Come on. I’ll show you my favourite place in the gardens.”

With a tug of Alyssa’s hand, Cinder sprung up to stand beside her. “I’d like that,” Cinder said, her voice warm. They made it out of the maze without any further mishaps – and without resorting to scaling any hedges. As they exited, Alyssa picked up one of the torches positioned near the entrance, carrying it with them to light their path.

The pathway to the hidden rose alcove was so familiar that Alyssa’s feet fell into their usual thoughtless tread, allowing her to focus the majority of her attention on the girl walking next to her. Cinder was engrossed in the sights of the palace garden, craning her head to look at each exotic flower arrangement or statue. Her hand in Alyssa’s was delightfully warm, and Alyssa could feel roughened skin and calluses reassuringly solid and real against her own smooth palms. Alyssa wondered idly how Cinder’s hands had become so work-roughened, and imagined what trades Cinder might have learnt, the myriad intricate tasks she might have turned her skilful fingers to. Was she a potter, a carpenter, a farmer, a cook?

“So what do you do?” Alyssa asked as they entered the beginning of the rose gardens. Roses had been her mother’s favourite flowers, and Alyssa’s father had cultivated thousands of the bushes to please her. The countless blooms opened their varicoloured throats to the sky, breathing their scent out into the crisp night air, so that a perfumed pall hung over the entirety of the garden.

Alyssa stopped and inhaled, feeling Cinder do the same beside her before she answered, “What do I do for a living?”

Alyssa nodded, then continued walking forward down the rows of roses.

“I live at home,” Cinder said. “Not very many girls learn a trade, so I just help out around the house.”

The calluses must be from errands such as cooking and cleaning, Alyssa concluded. Did simple household chores really wear so much on the hands? Were everyone’s hands as worn as Cinder’s? Alyssa didn’t know. She was coming to realise that there was a lot that she didn’t know.

“What did you think of the ball?” Alyssa asked.

“I liked it,” Cinder replied. “But I don’t think I would want to go to them often.”

“Me neither,” Alyssa agreed.

“Don’t you have a lot of balls, being a princess?”

Alyssa shrugged. “Not so often as you might think. The ball is only an excuse for my mother to marry me off to some man before I assume the throne. The decorations and the dresses are nice, but I feel like something being paraded around for display.”

Gallantly, Cinder said, “At least you make a beautiful display.”

“We’re here,” Alyssa said, interrupting the conversation by abruptly stepping sideways, pushing aside an overgrown branch to reveal a hidden alcove, hung about with roses in shades of dusky pink, crimson, and scarlet. She set the torch down in a sconce next to an intricately carved wooden bench, and turned to face Cinder.

She had been planning to continue their conversation from where she had interrupted it, but Alyssa found herself caught staring at Cinder, temporarily struck dumb. Cinder wasn’t even looking at her, but was rather carefully examining a pink rose blossom next to her face, which was softly lit by the flickering torchlight and framed by the trailing sprays of climbing roses. Her hair glowed golden where it caught the light, and the amber glints in Cinder’s eyes shone, accentuated by the rosy tint of her glasses frames.

Cinder looked up at Alyssa, a soft smile gracing her features, and Alyssa hurriedly looked away, sitting down as she did so. “So this is your quiet spot?”

Alyssa recollected herself swiftly. “Yes. It’s where I come to escape from my mother and from being a princess.”

“Is it really so hard to be a princess?” The bench creaked softly as Cinder sat down next to Alyssa, taking care not to sit on the folds of her skirt, which rustled around them as Alyssa shifted to give Cinder more room.

“Yes and no,” Alyssa replied wryly. “It’s not just throwing extravagant balls all the time, you know.”

“What is it that you do then?” Cinder prompted.

“Lots of lessons on how to be a good queen,” Alyssa listed. “Dinners with diplomats and functionaries. Sitting in on council meetings. Fielding various requests and petitions. Visiting with lords and ladies. Lots of boring responsibilities.”

Cinder brushed her fingers over the roses that twined round the back of the bench as she spoke. “Ruling the kingdom seems like a lot of work. Would you choose not to be queen if you could?”

“I don’t know,” Alyssa realised, taken aback. “I’ve never thought about it. I always knew I would be, growing up, so I never considered any other options.”

Cinder was watching her, eyes wide and wise as an owl’s.

“I suppose I might,” Alyssa finished. “Life might be easier that way.”

“Life is still hard for those of us who aren’t royalty,” Cinder pointed out with a flash of anger. “At least your safety is assured. You have a roof to live under and food to eat and clothes to wear.”

Alyssa backtracked hurriedly, feeling awful that she’d blundered and upset Cinder. “I’m sorry, Cinder. I didn’t realise. Is life really that difficult outside of the palace?”

“For some, yes.” Cinder was still staring at her. Alyssa shifted uncomfortably, feeling flustered under Cinder’s accusatory gaze.

“I didn’t know,” Alyssa said, abashed. If life outside the palace was that hard, why hadn’t her mother amended it? Why hadn’t Alyssa been taught about it? “I realise now that there’s a lot I’ve taken for granted.”

When Cinder next spoke, her voice was soft again. “Well, you’re aware now, which is good.”

Alyssa nodded into the silence. They sat for a while in silence as the tension between them dissipated in wafts of rosy air.

“Would you want to be queen?” Alyssa asked.

Cinder took a moment to respond, looking as if she was thinking hard. “I wouldn’t seek it out, but if the opportunity was offered to me? I think I’d accept. It would certainly be an improvement on my life now, and… I’d be able to do a lot of good. Make of lot of lives better.”

Sitting there, in the rose bower, in the flickering torchlight, Cinder looked strong. Regal. Her features were delicate but determined, and Alyssa felt something deep inside her settle into certainty. Cinder didn’t want power, but Alyssa knew that if it was given to her, she would use it to do the right thing. Alyssa had a plan, but she needed Cinder’s agreement first.

“You would make a better queen than I would,” Alyssa decided, breaking the solemnity of the moment.

Cinder’s eyebrows jumped, startled. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re selfless and caring,” Alyssa said. “You have ideals. You’re a good person.”

“You’re underestimating yourself,” Cinder rebutted. “Alyssa, you want to be a good queen, which means you will be, as long as you keep paying attention to your kingdom and your subjects.”

“I hardly know anything about them.” Alyssa sighed. “My mother is so overprotective, she won’t ever let me leave the palace grounds unless it’s for an official reason. She won’t even let me have any friends other than my handmaidens. It gets pretty lonely.”

Cinder leaned back on the bench, stretching her legs out in front of them. “I can imagine.”

Alyssa disrupted the sombre mood by asking Cinder more about herself. “Is it just Betsy whom you live with?”

“I live with my whole family,” Cinder said to her boots. “My father, my stepmother, and my stepsisters as well as my grandmother.”

“Is it nice to have a stepmother?” Alyssa asked.

Cinder puffed out a breath. “Truthfully, no. My stepmother doesn’t like me very much.”

“I’m sorry.” Alyssa touched Cinder’s thigh lightly. “I can’t see why she wouldn’t like you. I can’t see why anyone could ever dislike you.”

Cinder brushed the compliment off with a stiff laugh and said, “That’s not to say it couldn’t be nice to have a stepparent. I don’t mean to say that stepparents are bad, I just -” She stopped, then started afresh. “I’m sure some stepmothers and stepsisters and stepfamilies are really quite nice but mine… aren’t.”

“How do you mean?” Alyssa probed gently, deeply curious but wary of scaring Cinder off with any questions she wasn’t willing to answer.

For a moment, Cinder looked as if she were going to tell Alyssa everything, her face open and vulnerable. Then Cinder wiped the vulnerability off her face and said, somewhat harshly, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It seems like it does matter,” Alyssa pointed out, her curiosity about the beautiful girl sitting beside her growing unbearable. She wanted to know what it was that had hurt Cinder so much, and she wanted to fix it. All of Alyssa’s instincts told her that Cinder wanted to say something, but was being held back. So she quietly turned toward Cinder, tucking her feet up on the bench underneath her and taking Cinder’s hands in hers, resting in her lap. She looked up into Cinder’s face. A trailing tendril bedecked with rosebuds hung between them, positioned as if it were caressing Cinder’s jawline, softening her features and obscuring part of her face. Softly, tenderly, Alyssa asked, “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

Cinder’s eyes were screwed firmly shut, her face a study in concentration. She spoke without opening her eyes or looking at Alyssa. “Because if you knew the truth about me, Alyssa, you’d leave. And I don’t want to lose you.”

“What? Why would I?” Alyssa protested in bafflement.

Cinder made no reply, and but upon seeing the anguish in her eyes, Alyssa said fiercely, “Nothing could ever make me stop wanting to talk to you, Cinder. You have to believe me.” Somehow, she had to make Cinder see that. “Look at me,” she commanded.

Hesitantly, Cinder opened her eyes, and Alyssa met them with her own, leaning in slightly to emphasise her words. “I swear, Cinder, whatever it is, I won’t turn away from you. I would never willingly do that.” She tried to pour every iota of sincerity she could muster into her voice and into her gaze, needing to make Cinder believe her.

And it worked. Under Alyssa’s searching eyes, Cinder thawed and said, “I’m not a princess, or a lady, or even a wealthy man’s daughter. I don’t have servants, or money. I don’t own a single dress.”

Cinder’s words had started slowly, but the trickle soon sped up and her grip on Alyssa’s hands tightened as she struggled to keep her voice from cracking from the emotional force of her confession. “I used to be happy. Loved. But then my mother died, and my father remarried, and my stepmother and stepsisters _hate_ me. They absolutely loathe me and I didn’t even do anything to them. They made me into a servant in my own house. To my own family. I cook and I clean and I do every little thing they ever ask of me and I receive nothing but scorn in return, and now I have nothing and no one.”

Alyssa said nothing, shocked and dismayed and distraught for Cinder’s pain, but waiting for Cinder to finish. Cinder’s eyes were hot and bright as she said, “Alyssa, I can’t be with you because you’re a princess and I am _nothing_ and now that you know that, I will never see you again.”

“No,” Alyssa said, shaking her head. “No. None of that changes anything. You are still the most captivating person I have ever met. I don’t care that you’re not rich or highborn.”

Cinder ducked her head, her loose curls flopping forward to hide her face from Alyssa. In response, Alyssa reached forward, brushing the roses aside, and smoothed the blond locks off Cinder’s cheeks, tipping Cinder’s head up so she could look the other girl in the eye.

“I wouldn’t give you up for anything,” Alyssa breathed. “Trust me.”

“I do,” Cinder said quietly.

Alyssa was suddenly hyperaware of how close they were sitting, of her hand on Cinder’s soft cheek, of how Cinder’s face was tilted up to hers. She could count each one of Cinder’s sooty eyelashes. Alyssa felt herself inexorably drawn closer to Cinder, eyes flickering indecisively from Cinder’s intoxicating eyes to her lips. The distance between them grew smaller, as Cinder leaned in near-imperceptibly as well. Alyssa’s heart thudded in her chest. Their noses brushed, and Alyssa’s eyelids fluttered shut at the contact.

In the distance, a bell tolled.

Cinder jerked back and Alyssa’s eyes jerked open. Then Cinder sprang to her feet, shattering the moment. “Midnight,” she gasped. “Alyssa, I – I’m sorry.”

The bell tolled a second time. Cinder darted out of the alcove.

Alyssa sat for a moment in shock as the belltowers let out a third chime.

The bells rang out a fourth time, and Alyssa tore after her.

Rosebushes flashed past her in the dark. A fifth knell.

She saw Cinder whip around a fountain as the bells pealed a sixth time.

Seven, and Alyssa followed Cinder pell-mell up the stairs to the side door.

Eight, and she was chasing Cinder through the empty corridor.

Nine, and they burst out into the ballroom.

Ten, and Alyssa cursed under her breath as she lost Cinder in the crowd, scarcely heeding the bewilderment of her guests.

Eleven, and Alyssa caught sight of her again as the crowd parted around her. Cinder dashed to the grand exit. A gowned reveller stepped into her path and Cinder tumbled to the ground, but was up and running again without missing a beat.

Twelve, and Cinder had bolted out of the palace doors, out into the night.

The bells went silent. The room went silent except for Alyssa’s pulse thundering in her ears. She dropped to her knees next to Cinder’s glasses, which were left on the floor. The only thing Cinder had left behind. Cinder was gone. Time was up.

Alyssa had thought that she’d have more time.

A ripple of murmurs went through the guests as the queen regent stepped in front of Alyssa, effectively stopping her from pursuing Cinder.

“Alyssa,” her mother said coldly, disapproval clear in each syllable.

“Mother,” Alyssa panted, trying desperately to regain control of her breathing.

“Have you made your choice?” The queen regent didn’t deign to remark on Alyssa’s winded condition.

Alyssa stood. “Yes.”

A crowd had grown around them, as they waited to hear who the princess would marry.

Alyssa took a deep breath, centring herself. Her mother wasn’t going to be happy to hear what Alyssa was about to say, but Alyssa couldn’t care less. She lifted her chin, and spoke loud enough for her declaration to carry. “I thank everyone who has come over these past nights. I have danced with as many of you all as I could, and spoken to many others besides. Your company was delightful, but none more so than one person’s. One among you has my heart and my promise. I will marry whosoever these glasses belong to,” she declaimed, holding the glasses up for all to see.

She saw her mother’s eyes tighten in rebuke. Alyssa smiled inwardly. She, too, could put on a display of showmanship to get what she wanted. Having made an announcement in front of the entire court, the queen regent would not be able to retract Alyssa’s statement. And even if the queen regent and her court fought Alyssa, having the glasses would prove Cinder’s claim to her hand.

“And how will you find the owner?” The queen regent asked. Alyssa’s smile fell, and she opened her mouth, frantically wracking her brain to think of something to say.

A polite cough sounded from behind her. “If I may?” Hawkins interjected.

“Sir Hawkins,” Alyssa said in relief. “Please, say what you have to say.”

“As I’m sure Your Highness is well aware,” he said diplomatically, “each pair of glasses is specific to its wearer. It would be a simple matter to devise a reading test, which only the owner of the glasses would be able to pass.”

Alyssa tossed him a grateful smile, then raised her voice to address the crowd once again. “Then that is what shall happen. Tomorrow, we shall test all eligible young men and women to find the wearer of the glasses. And when the owner is found, to them I will offer my hand in marriage.”

When she finished, the crowd began to disperse, muttering in excitement. Alyssa, her mother, and Hawkins were left in their wake.

“Alyssa. What are you doing?” the queen regent asked, furious.

“What you told me to do,” Alyssa replied sharply. “Finding a betrothed.”

“How dare you?” her mother spluttered. “You are supposed to marry someone like Prince Nicholas –”

“Don’t make a scene, mother,” Alyssa cut her off. Her mother stared at her in outrage, but Alyssa knew she had stalled her for now. The queen regent was too preoccupied with her social appearance to risk making a scene by starting an argument with her daughter in public.

Lamely, her mother said, “You cannot leave the palace by yourself.”

“I’ll have an escort then,” Alyssa said. “Hawkins?”

“Of course, Your Highness. I shall be there with you to oversee the testing.”

“Is that acceptable, mother?” Alyssa asked.

Her mother nodded curtly. “It will have to do. But I will come with you.”

“Highness, if I may,” Hawkins said from her side. “I must go prepare the reading test.”

“I’ll come with you.” Alyssa linked her arm through his. “Explain how this works to me.”

Hawkins escorted her out of the ballroom, talking animatedly about how glasses worked. Alyssa tried to focus but failed, distracted by the recollection of the almost-kiss they had shared, and of the torn look on Cinder’s face when she had turned and fled. Her mind was filled with countless rushing thoughts, but one question underscored everything else: would she ever see Cinder again?

 

* * *

 

The next day dawned clear and crisp, with small drifts of fluffy clouds studding the blue sky. As she served a late breakfast to the family, Emma suffered through Kaylee and Shelby’s dissection of various rumours and gossip from the night before.

“Do you think the one the princess is looking for is whoever it was who bumped into you?” Kaylee said eagerly.

“It must be,” Shelby agreed. “It all happened so fast, but I’m certain that he dropped his glasses when he collided with me.”

“Do you know who he was?” Kaylee asked.

Shelby shrugged elegantly as she cut into her bacon. “Hadn’t seen him there before, so I’ve no idea. He was wearing a suit, but I’m not even sure that it was a man. The hair was odd, and the way he or she moved was wrong.”

“Maybe it was someone in disguise! How mysterious.” Kaylee sounded disproportionately pleased by this, for it was the most gossip-worthy event the town had experienced in years.

“Speaking of mysterious, did you see that lady at all last night?” Shelby asked between mouthfuls.

“No!” Kaylee exclaimed, putting down the forkful of eggs she’d been raising to her mouth. “You don’t think –”

“The mysterious glasses person and the mysterious lady might be one and the same,” Shelby concluded.

Emma felt vaguely nervous at how close to the mark Kaylee and Shelby’s comments were and withdrew as soon as she was able. Betsy was waiting in the kitchen – she never took her meals with the rest of the family if she could avoid it.

“How was last night?” Betsy asked.

Emma only shook her head in reply, not yet ready to talk about how close she’d come and how she’d lost Alyssa.

Betsy pressed an understanding hand onto Emma’s shoulder, then left, knowing that Emma would tell her when she was ready.

After piling the dirty dishes into the sink to soak, Emma escaped to the tree on the hill behind the house. Such was the uproar in town after last night’s events that her stepmother didn’t even remark on her absence.

The soft rustling of the ash tree’s leaves combined with the birdsong was soothing, even though with the loss of her glasses, the blurriness of the vista around her frustrated Emma greatly. The breeze carried scent of roses to Emma’s nose, and her heart ached. She knew she’d never again be able to smell a rose without recalling Alyssa, and the heartbreakingly intimate moment they had shared.

She almost couldn’t believe it. She had told Alyssa the truth about herself, and Alyssa hadn’t turned away. Hadn’t even flinched. Quite the opposite, in fact. Emma might have been imagining it, but she thought that perhaps, before midnight had struck, perhaps Alyssa had been about to kiss her.

Emma turned the wilted jasmine circlet over in her hands. She’d woken up with it next to her, so it had to have been real. And if Kaylee and Shelby were to be believed, Alyssa was looking for her. Alyssa had her glasses. Alyssa had declared her intention to betroth herself to the owner of the glasses. To Emma.

Emma wasn’t familiar with the politics at court, but even she could understand that a proclamation in front of so many people was one that the princess couldn’t renege on. Which meant that Alyssa was serious. Alyssa was serious about her, about them. It hadn’t just been wishful thinking on her part. There was something between them, something real, something true.

Not that there was any chance of Alyssa finding her anyway. Even if she did come to the house, there was no way Emma’s stepmother would allow Emma to try on the glasses and prove who she was. And even though Alyssa knew she was a servant, Emma couldn’t help but feel that Alyssa wouldn’t want her as she was now, dressed in rags and tatters. She sighed, hitting her head lightly against the trunk of the ash tree. It was too good to be true. Yet the way Alyssa had looked at her last night… If Emma let herself believe and hope, it had seemed like Alyssa really would do anything to keep seeing Emma.

Her thoughts chased each other round and round in circles, tossing Emma from the peaks of optimisms to the trenches of despair. Emma groaned and sunk her face onto her knees as the sun rose higher in the spring sky.

-

Out of sight and unbeknownst to Emma, a carriage was pulling up in front of the house. The princess had arrived. True to her word, Alyssa had allowed each eligible person in town to try on the glasses even though she knew she’d be able to identify Cinder on sight. She wanted nothing more than to tear through each of the houses calling for Cinder, but she knew she had to appear just and fair. Thankfully, no one had passed Hawkins’ reading test yet. Alyssa shuddered to think what would happen if someone had, but Hawkins was confident in the accuracy of the tests he’d devised.

Thus it was that the princess had come at last to the houses on the outskirts of town, determined to find the girl who had captured her heart. Inside the carriage, Alyssa looked helplessly at Hawkins. They had tested so many people already, and Alyssa was tired and beginning to lose hope. Hawkins squeezed her knee. “We’ll find them, Princess. I know we will.”

Alyssa smiled wanly, and allowed Hawkins to assist her out of the carriage. Her mother followed, holding her head aloft and not deigning to speak to them.

The door was ripped open by Kaylee and Shelby of House Nolan as soon as Hawkins rapped on it. The master and mistress of the house came to greet them, leading them into the drawing room, making banal comments and small talk.

Kaylee and Shelby were in a tizzy of excitement, and though their stifling courtesy irked Alyssa, she smiled graciously at them as Hawkins administered the test. Even though both Alyssa and the two girls knew that they weren’t the ones the princess was looking for, Kaylee and Shelby tried on the glasses regardless, stumbling through the test and inventing the letters they were asked to read off a variety of boards Hawkins held up.

When the reading tests failed, Alyssa’s heart fell irrationally too, even though she hadn’t expected or wanted either of the girls to pass. Pretty as a set of china dolls as they were, something about Kaylee and Shelby rubbed her the wrong way.

This was one of the last houses Alyssa had left to go through. She hadn’t found a single trace of Cinder anywhere. Desperately, she asked, “Is there anyone else in the house that’s eligible?”

 “No,” the mistress of the house replied. “Just my girls.”

Sighing, Alyssa turned to leave. Perhaps Cinder lived in one of the other houses down the road. But perhaps Cinder didn’t live in the town after all, and if that was the case, how would Alyssa ever find her? Despair sunk into Alyssa’s bones and gnawed at her heart.

And that was when Emma’s father did the last selfless thing he would ever do for his daughter.

He had been silent up until now, but it was then that Master Nolan spoke. “There is another,” he rumbled. “My daughter, Emma. You’ll find her behind the house.”

Alyssa spun around, too weary of pretence to hide the wild hope that had sprung up within her. Emma. Emma. She had never heard Cinder’s true name before, but the syllables struck a chord deep within her. Emma. The name felt as deep and solid as bedrock. Emma. Alyssa stumbled through the house to the back door, her heart pounding in time to the name thundering through her head. Emma. A simple and elegant name, perfect for a girl who was beautiful and honest. Emma. Emma. Emma.

Alyssa threw open the back door and looked up as she walked toward the hill. A small figure sat curled up against the trunk of an ash tree which spread its green branches proudly into the sky. Cinder had said that her spot was a tree on a hill behind her house. Alyssa got closer, and saw a shock of tangled blond curls that she would have recognised anywhere. Her heart jumped into her mouth and she broke into a run. It was her. Cinder. Emma.

-

And so it came to be that, on that lovely spring day, Emma lifted her bedraggled head from her arms and saw Alyssa running up the hill toward her.

The princess was wearing a simple green dress the exact shade of the ash leaves fluttering above Emma’s head, and under the bright light of day she was glorious.

As their eyes met, Emma stood. Alyssa skidded to a halt under the tree and threw her arms around Emma, who sank into the embrace and hugged Alyssa tightly to her. It rivalled one of Betsy’s patented hugs. This felt right. This felt like home.

Emma breathed in a cloud of perfumed air, and breathed out a lifetime of worries. When they finally stepped back, breaking the embrace, she smiled, radiant and light as the sun.

“Emma.” A pang went through Emma’s chest as she heard her name – her true name – rolling off Alyssa’s lips.

“That’s me,” she said a little stupidly. Emma’s eyes dropped to Alyssa’s dress, and she noticed the ashy smudges she’d left on it. “Oh no, Alyssa, your dress. I’ve ruined it. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Alyssa beamed at her, and Emma felt herself beaming back helplessly, unable to continue feeling guilty with Alyssa looking at her like that. She felt all of her fears washing away under Alyssa’s eyes. Alyssa was here. Alyssa had found her. Alyssa had run to her and greeted her and hadn’t hesitated to touch her. Emma let go of every insecurity and doubtful thought and let herself believe that Alyssa wanted her.

“Your Highness, is this the one?” came the voice of a man who was just cresting the hill.

Alyssa nodded and turned to introduce them. “Emma, this is my tutor, Sir Hawkins. Hawkins, this is Emma.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hawkins said, addressing Emma with a deep bow.

Flustered by the gesture of respect, Emma said, “Yes. I mean, it’s nice to meet you too.”

The queen regent surmounted the hill and looked Emma up and down, making her shrink into herself. “And pray tell, who is this urchin?”

“Mother, this is Emma. This is the girl I choose.” Alyssa’s voice was proud and sure.

The queen regent’s face was impassive as she said, “She must pass the test, Alyssa.”

This time, there was an edge to Alyssa’s tone as she spoke. “That’s not necessary. I know her. I know who I chose.”

“You said you would marry whoever those glasses belong to. And I have yet to see who those glasses belong to.” Alyssa’s mother’s voice grew fractionally louder. “Either she passes the test or we move on to the next house.”

“Fine,” Alyssa said with ill-concealed irritation. “I’m sorry, Emma. Just… do as she asks, please.”

“It’s all right,” Emma said. The queen regent clearly wasn’t going to accept her own daughter vouching for Emma, and it seemed like passing the test would be the only possible way to placate her.

Alyssa produced Emma’s glasses and settled them gingerly on the bridge of Emma’s nose. “I believe these are yours.”

“Thank you.” Emma adjusted the lenses and peered out at the now-clear view. She was relieved to have her vision back – after having had the glasses bestowed upon her by Barry, reverting back to the way things were had chafed.

Hawkins smiled encouragingly at Emma, then said, “Simply read the words on these boards for me.”

He back a few steps away and held up a few slates, and Emma read the words aloud smoothly, one after another. Each successive slate held words emblazoned in ever-diminishing sizes, but Hawkins nodded in approval at each of Emma’s correct answers.

She paused to address both Alyssa and Hawkins with a question. “How is this supposed to prove that these glasses are mine?”

“No one else sees quite the way you do,” Alyssa said, shrugging. “I tried them on, and I couldn’t read anything past the second slate.”

“It’s due to the specific shape of the structures in your eyes,” Hawkins supplied. “No two people would have the same degree of visual impairment, and while several candidates have come close, no one has succeeded in reading past this last slate.”

So saying, he held the last portion of the test aloft for Emma to read. She smiled as she read it. “Dance, hothouse, maze, garden, chase.”

“Correct.” Hawkins put the slate down. “Your Highness, we have found her.”

“No.” The queen regent finally intervened from where she was standing. “There must be some mistake.”

“I know it’s her, mother. Look, there.” Alyssa pointed at the flower crown Emma was still clutching in her hand. “I gave her that circlet of jasmine myself.”

“No!” Alyssa’s mother insisted again. “Alyssa, you cannot possibly be thinking of marrying this – this _peasant_.” Her voice dripped disdain as she surveyed Emma’s ashy, smudged appearance.

Alyssa stepped forward to face her mother, her hand stealing into Emma’s and clutching it tightly. “Why not? Why should I not be with Emma? You gave me the choice.”

“Alyssa Maria Isabelle Abigail Anna Grace Greene, I did not raise you to do this!” the queen regent cried shrilly, stomping her foot. “I will not permit you to ruin your life – to tarnish our reputation like this. You will not marry this peasant girl and that is final!”

“Mother, you can’t stop me,” Alyssa said firmly. Emma watched the exchange silently, feeling adrift amongst these high-ranking strangers. She tightened her grip on Alyssa’s hand, trying to silently communicate her support. “I can’t be the illusory daughter you want me to be, the perfect princess. I can’t do every single thing you ever ask of me. It is too much.” Alyssa’s voice trembled on the last word and she drew in a sharp breath before continuing, her voice rising. “I am going to be the best queen I can be, I promise, but I have to do it my way. And that doesn’t mean being trapped in some damned loveless political marriage to Prince Nicholas, it means doing what’s right for me, doing what I want.” Alyssa let out another trembling breath as everyone watched her with wide eyes. “And this?” Alyssa said, lifting her and Emma’s joined hands. “This is what’s right for me. This is what I want. This right here. So if you ever loved me, you’ll stop talking and start listening and let me be myself for once.”

There was a silence, and the wind whistled softly through the ash branches.

Mother and daughter stood stock still, glittering eyes locked in a silent contest.

“Alright.” The queen regent backed down. “Alright. Alyssa, I admit I may have misjudged my place. And for that… I am sorry. We will – can we talk tonight?”

Emma watched the tension trickle abruptly out of Alyssa’s back. “Yes, please. Tonight.”

The queen regent turned jerkily away and walked down the hill, as the three of them watched. “I’ll give you a moment,” Hawkins said, and hurried after her.

Emma tugged on Alyssa’s hand until Alyssa turned to face her. “Alyssa,” Emma said softly, breaking the princess out of her frozen state of shock. “That was really brave.”

“You really think so?” Alyssa laughed shakily.

“I do,” Emma said, solemn.

Alyssa transfixed Emma with her deep brown eyes. “Emma, I never asked properly, but… do you want to come to the palace with me? That is to say, will you come spend some time – the rest of our lives if you’re willing – with me? I don’t know how to say this.” Alyssa faltered, and drew in a deep breath. “Emma. You are the kindest, most genuine person I have ever met and I never want to give that up. Will you marry me?”

“Can Betsy come live with us?” Emma asked.

Alyssa laughed. “Of course. We’re going to need some advisors at court.”

“Then yes,” Emma said. Her answer had never really been in doubt. “Yes.”

Something clicked into place then, and the wind pushed away a cloud that had scudded in front of the sun, letting its beams fall down to illuminate the two girls. The sunlight imbued Alyssa’s skin and hair with a deep golden glow that took up all of Emma’s vision as they both took a step forward and their heads tilted together. The whole world melted away – the breeze whispering through the leaves, the lilting birdsong, all of it, leaving only the soft exhale of air and the brush of fingers across cheeks as their lips gently, ever so gently met.

They kissed, and it was a hope, a dream, and a promise all rolled into one. For a moment the world stood still.

Then, distantly, Emma heard Betsy yell. “Emma Nolan, you did _not_ tell me that the girl you’re seeing is the princess!”

She smiled into the kiss.

 

* * *

 

_Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom, a beautiful princess grew to be a queen who was wise and just, and she took another who was brave and kind to wife. Their love was strong and pure, and their noble spirits inspired all those who surrounded them. Together, they guided the land into an era of peace and prosperity._

 


End file.
